Unoriginality 1: An Original Trainer Story
by Farla
Summary: Meet Kazikami, the blue haired seventeen year old just starting her journey, and others! Totally and utterly original, really! No cliches here! Chapter 28: Regarding Ralts.
1. Kazikami

So here we are, dear readers. I, the ever-present Farla, grow annoyed by not just the quality but the sheer quantity of original trainer fiction. Some of you do this well, but let's admit it – most of you don't.

Is this a lighthearted parody? A vicious mockery? Well-intentioned advice? Or simply venting? I leave it to you.

–

Unoriginality #1: An Original Trainer Story

By a growingly irritated Farla who's leaving her semi-sabbatical because she's horrified by the state of things here in the pokemon category.

Summary: _Kazekami__ is about to begin her pokemon journey. With an unusual starter, will she become the greatest pokemon master? Or does she have an even greater destiny to fulfill?_

* * *

The Beginning

The glowing light of the sun slowly slipped through the western window (a/n Look at what a great author I am! I alliterate!) like melting gold into the room. It slid over the posters of pokemon on the walls, the desk with a large computer monitor, the bookshelves full of pokemon books, the alarm clock, and onto the bed.

The alarm clock was ticking softly. Tick…tick…RING!

Kazekami (a/n that name is Japanese! Aren't I original!) jumped out of bed, fumbling for the clock. Smacking it hard over the top and silencing it, Kazekami yawned once. Blinking, she looked at the glowing numbers.

"AHHH!" she screamed. She must have set her alarm wrong! She was thirty minutes late! Kazekami didn't bother wondering why this was. Her alarm clock had never gone off late before, and, excited and nervous at the prospect of getting her first pokemon, she had triple-checked it last night. It was strange that today of all days it would fail. But rather than think about this and draw attention to the oddity, she jumped out of bed.

Hurriedly throwing on a black (a/n Black is SO cool and goth) shirt she carefully selected for the emblem of a pokeball drawn on it in sparklies and a pair of designer jeans with tiny embroidered roses on it (a/n I have one just like that!1), she checked herself in the mirror. Her jade orbs took in her reflection. She had long, shiny black hair with natural streaks of blue in it that went down past her narrow waist, and clear, unblemished skin. At seventeen, she was approximately 5'11¾".

Satisfied she looked good, she picked up her necklace and pulled it over her head. A moment later the pendant lay on her chest, even though it should have gotten tangled in her abnormally long hair. It was a large, polished red gemstone, wrapped in delicately wrought gold. It was her good luck charm. She'd found it when she was a little girl.

Flashback

A four year old Kazekami ran laughing around the meadow when she bumped into something big. She fell backward. Looking up, she saw a ninetails standing in front of her. In its mouth it held a shining necklace. It dropped the necklace into her lap silently, then bounded off.

End Flashback

Kazekami flung herself down the staircase. Her mother was cooking breakfast. Kazekami did not reflect upon how odd it was that, her mother, aware of the time and date, had not awoken her. "Hey Mom gotta go bye Mom!" she yelled as she raced past, snagging a piece of toast lying there on the table as if expecting exactly this turn of events.

Her mother started to say something as she ran out, but Kazekami didn't listen. She knew her mother would only ask her again if she was sure this was a good idea. No one believed girls could be good pokemon trainers, but she'd show them!

She ran as fast as she could to the laboratory at the center of town.

"Professor Birch!" she called.

"Hello Kazekami," Birch said.

"Are there any pokemon left?"

"Well…I'm afraid there aren't any starters left. Even though all the people always sign up, and I really should know how many are coming, it seems like I always forget to get enough."

"What! But Professor, please, you've got to give me a pokemon!" Tears welled in Kazekami's sparkling sea-green eyes. Er, orbs.

"Er…Kazekami, you do know you could just come back tomorrow and I'd have gotten another-"

"Please! You have no idea how long I've been waiting to be a pokemon trainer!"

"But you didn't mind waiting an extra seven years so why -"

"Please Prof., I mean, Professor!"

"Well, I guess I could give you another pokemon that isn't the standard starter. It isn't like there's any particular _reason_ or anything that we give out those three."

"Really?"

The professor shrugged. "Sure, I don't see why not." He rummaged through a box of pokeballs. "Of course, to avoid giving you an unfair advantage - or something - I'll choose it randomly. Here you go."

Kazekami took it. "Pokeball, go!" she yelled. Prof. Birch flinched.

A vulpix appeared out of a swirling mass of sparkling light. "Vul," it said mildly.

_Wow_, Kazekami thought. _It's…SO KAWAII!_ (a/n Look at me! I'm using Japanese words!) She let out a little delighted squeal, prompting a second flinch from Prof. Birch, and scooped up the vulpix to hug it.

"Um, Kazekami, I should warn you - "

"PIX!" the vulpix yelled, blasting Kazekami (a/n I'm so original! I thought up this scene all by myself!).

Kazekami fell down, blackened. "Not kawaii," she said, dazed. "Not kawaii at all."

"-As I was saying, Kazekami, thanks to decades of inbreeding to produce the perfect purebred vulpixes, they can be a bit high-strung."

"…thanks for warning me…"

d – d

Kazekami was walking through the plains on the outskirts of town when she ran into another trainer.

"Hey, I challenge you to a pokemon battle!" shouted the boy. He was twelve, with fluffy, brown hair (a/n His hair is brown because he's boring and I don't care about him. He's not SPECIAL like Kazekami) and cerulean orbs.

"Ha! Okay, kid, I accept." Kazekami knew there was no way a kid like this could beat her. She'd show that she wasn't a weak trainer just because she was a girl…even though the boy hadn't said anything to indicate he was sexist and there were already plenty of female trainers who never seemed to be discriminated against.

"Who are you calling a kid?" yelled the boy, his indigo orbs looking childishly angry to Kazekami. "I've been a trainer for two whole years now!"

Kazekami rolled her eyes. "Whatever, kiddo. You've still got _five_ more years before you'll be as old as me. Go, vulpix!"

"Go, tauros!"

The huge bull pokemon snorted, pawing at the ground with its hooves. The vulpix yawned.

"So…kawaii…" Kazekami shook her head hard. The author - I mean, she seemed to be losing focus. She had to concentrate on the battle. Of course, there was no way she could lose her first battle. She wrapped her hand over her good luck charm. It felt abnormally warm against her skin.

_First, I'll use tail whip, and then I'll…_Kazekami thought, planning her strategy.

"Tauros, earthquake!" bellowed the boy, his sapphire orbs flashing.

The ground shuddered, then burst upward, flinging the vulpix backward. "Vul…pix…" it whimpered, fainting.

"Nani?" said Kazekami blankly.

* * *

And that, dear friends and dearer enemies, is a parody.

Next chapter: Is it even possible to write a good OT story using the 'standard' opening, even if you remove the clichés, the contrived plot, and the raw stupidity? Probably not.


	2. Mirror Unoriginality

Mirror-Unoriginality

An experiment.

Has anyone ever noticed these stories tend toward extremes? _Either_ the trainer has a dirt-common name _or_ a ludicrously rare name. _Either_ the story starts with the sun and the alarm clock _or_ from the last main event, the getting of pokemon. _Either_ they get their first choice of a starter _or_ they get a special pokemon. And so on.

(To those wondering - it is impossible to properly parody OT stories because they are never finished. Therefore, in a nod to the tried and true, Kazekami's story ended with the…well, ending of the story. She came, she saw, she lost to a twelve year old)

(Incidentally, those of you who reviewed positively…you frighten me)

* * *

Jeana chewed her cereal thoughtfully. Her attention was far away from her breakfast. Today the ten year old was finally going to get her first pokemon. She knew exactly what she'd choose. Bulbasaur. Plant-type pokemon were her favorites. Even so, she'd agonized over the decision last night, until she'd finally realized she was getting nowhere and gone to sleep.

She thought she'd be able to take good care of a bulbasaur, too. She'd been helping her mother in their little flower garden for almost two years now, after all. Under her expert care, she knew it would evolve into an ivysaur in no time.

Her father sat across from her at the rounded wooden table, eating scrambled eggs. He'd been a trainer too - not that it was something special, practically everyone had. And, like practically everyone, he'd dropped out quickly enough, returned home, gotten a job and a wife. Jeana, fantasizing about the victreebel she would catch wrapping its vines around Lance's dragonite and sending it flying into the stadium walls for a knock-out, didn't think about this.

"Okay, I'm done," she said, jumping up. "Bye!" Without waiting for a response, she swung her pink bag over her shoulders and rushed out.

The professor's lab wasn't too far from where she lived, but it was a long distance to run carrying all the supplies she'd packed. She was winded by the time she got to the front door and knocked.

It only took a few seconds for Oak to open the door. "Hello, Jeana. Right on time."

Jeana nodded, following him inside silently. Her heart was pounding. Finally, finally she would be a pokemon trainer.

They came out of the hallway into a room. There was a table with two pokeballs on it. "Hey, I thought you said I was on time?" she said.

Professor Oak nodded. "Yes, but there's always at least one trainer who's early. So, which pokemon do you want?"

"Bulbasaur!"

"Sorry, that one's been picked. Your choices are squirtle or charmander."

Jeana tried not to look too disappointed. _I can always get one later_, she thought. "Okay, then…Squirtle."

Oak handed her the pokeball on the right. "Here you go," he said.

* * *

:glances up: I think even when you try to avoid the overdone, the story's still horribly bland. It seems there's no mirror originality here.

This is shorter because it's just as boring to write as it is to read. Boring as this is, I think it shows an important lesson. Even if you manage not to butcher the innocent English language, even if you avoid the more prevalent clichés, even if you try to make the events in the story reasonable, _it's still uninteresting_. Think for a moment and consider not writing a story about how the trainer gets their first pokemon from Prof. RandomName and begins their journey through MundaneRegion. If you've got a plotline, do your readers a favor and please, skip ahead. People will wade through thirty-plus chapters of plotless nonsense at times, but they may well kill you afterwards. So please, if you won't think of the readers…think of yourself and how you don't want to be hit over the head by your keyboard.


	3. Trainers and Injured Pokemon

Today, dear readers, we will get three trainer clichés for the price of one. Why? Because they're short and easy, and all along the same theme. Namely, that the writers have obviously never been within three hundred feet of an animal, injured or not.

* * *

Maria was walking down the forest path when she heard a soft noise. Following it, she saw an injured treecko lying on the ground. It was badly bruised, even bleeding slightly. "Oh no!" she said, rushing over. She quickly scooped it up, not noticing as it cried out in pain from her rough handling, and raced down the path, every step painfully jarring the treecko's battered body. Its broken tail was tossed back and forth, unsupported. Its head also flopped around, neck twisting from side to side.

_I hope it'll be okay until I can get to the pokemon center,_ Maria thought, ignoring the obvious fact that if she'd used a pokeball to catch it, it would've been safely held inside. In fact, if she'd used a pokeball, she could have teleported it directly to a pokemon center. But if she'd done that, then there'd be no drama, and she wouldn't have looked like a good trainer concerned with the welfare of the pokemon.

She finally reached the center after several hours. "Nurse Joy, Nurse Joy!" she yelled. "I found an injured pokemon!"

Joy rushed over, taking it. "Oh dear," she said. "It's very badly dehydrated. If you'd gotten here even just a half hour later, it'd probably have died."

Maria would have beamed with pride, but she was too concerned about the treecko. "Will it be okay?" she asked earnestly. She couldn't believe her luck! Now she'd have a treecko on her journey.

"Not for a while," said the nurse, laying it on a stretcher, straightening out its tail gently and looking at its sprained neck. "If you hadn't run with it and worsened all the breaks, it would only be a day or so, but now it might take a few weeks. May I have your trainer license?"

d – b

Another trainer, Martha, also traveled down an unspecified forest path. Unspecified forest paths were where most of the events happened for a trainer, so they tended to spend as much time there as possible.

Suicune (or at least **a** suicune, anyway) crashed through the thin undergrowth and stumbled onto the path.

It had red scrapes all over its beautiful blue body, and was panting as if exhausted. It readied itself to take another leap.

Where another, lesser trainer might have paused, Martha did not. "Ultraball, go!" she shrieked excitedly. The ball barely twitched before it locked shut.

In the pokemon center she healed it at, she proudly recounted the tale to the wide-eyed listeners, talking about how she couldn't believe she'd been so lucky as to be there at the time, to have the opportunity to defeat a legendary. When the pokemon was returned, the growing crowd asked to see it. Martha grinned, opening the ball. Now that she had Suicune, she'd be unbeatable.

"Suicune," she ordered, deciding to show off its power, "use bubblebeam on-"

Suicune, now fully healed, leapt gracefully over the heads of the trainers and was gone an instant later.

d – b

Maggie had also been traveling along a path, and had also found a pokemon. It was a torchic, who was covered in bruises. She'd brought it quickly to the pokemon center. The Nurse Joy returned.

"Is Torchic okay?" she asked, leaping up.

Nurse Joy smiled cheerily. "The torchic is fine," she said. "It's healed and resting now."

"Do you know what happened to it? How it got that way?"

The Joy's face darkened. "It must have been abandoned," she said sadly.

"What? That's horrible!" yelled Maggie indignantly. "How could anyone do that?"

"Yes it is," said Nurse Joy. "I'll keep talking about it so you can rant angrily and show what a good trainer you are to the readers." She cleared her throat. "A lot of trainers abandon their pokemon like this."

"I can't believe anyone would do that," said Maggie, acting oblivious to the fact her dialogue was just a repeat of what she'd just said. "That's so mean."

The Joy nodded. "Let's keep talking so that we can be sure we've hammered the fact you're a good trainer into the heads of the readers. Ahem, what's really sad is now that poor torchic will be afraid of other trainers."

"Oh no, that's so sad," said Maggie dutifully. Then she grinned. "Wow, this is awesome. Now I know how politicians feel when they say stuff like 'we want to reduce murder'. Oh, um, I hope this doesn't happen to pokemon very much."

"It's actually very common. Many trainers abandon their pokemon. To add to your moral righteousness, they tend to beat their pokemon badly. I know there's no actual reason for this so let's move on quickly before the readers notice."

"Okay. Um, what will happen to the torchic now?

"Well, I don't know. Despite the fact torchic aren't exactly common, I suppose I don't know who will take it. And despite the fact the pokemon center is completely outfitted to handle pokemon, it wouldn't need to battle and I'd be able to take good care of it, I think it can't be kept here."

"Oh no, who will take it?"

"Could you? Sure, I don't know you, and yes, you've only just started your journey, and yes, you have no experience with traumatized pokemon, and yes, you'll just make it battle more, and yes, for all I know you could be lying and have beaten up the torchic yourself, but why not?"

"Yay!"

* * *

Now, my dear readers, why do all of the previous clichés fail?

Quite simply because the author makes it abundantly clear that they are only putting this in the story as an add-on to their character. One and two are just there to excuse the getting of a new pokemon, one and three are just there because the author believes that they need a sledgehammer or two to properly convince you of the godliness of their character.

What's wrong with a story about a trainer who finds an injured pokemon? That no one in their right mind would ever try to transport an injured animal by grabbing it and running. Ever. When the animal mauls you for hurting it, I'll laugh, because I like animals better than people and you really, really deserved it. If the trainer has pokeballs, the only reason to manually carry it is that you're sadistic and want to cause it as much pain as possible during transport.

Could a story where an injured legendary is caught work? Yes, and in fact, I'm going to hit my head on the keyboard now before the plotbunnies get me.

Ghbnhyhyhghghghygfrdreijkoiijijyyyhuuytuyt76ghj

Okay, that's better. Now, like I was saying. If the story actually involved the repercussions for catching a legendary, (What does the legendary think? Is it furious? Does it think you cheated? Is it suicidal? What do other people think? What do other pokemon think? Do your own pokemon refuse to battle because they think it's sacrilege?) or otherwise thought about the situation, it'd actually be a pretty interesting idea, which is why my forehead hurts right now. But if you don't have this, or, for that matter, even if you do but it's just to excuse getting the legendary to your readers, it's stupid. I won't ask for a detailed explanation of why a trainer's rattata is completely pivotal to the plot and can't be replaced by any other pokemon. I will if it's a groudon.

Oh, and please stop writing stories where characters rant about abused pokemon. Aside from striking me as blatantly hypocritical, it's always really obvious that you're only having them say it because everyone agrees. It's the equivalent of a politician saying they're 'for the children' or 'against releasing mass murderers and giving them assault weapons and full immunity'. Sure, no one disagrees, but it's not exactly the most daring thing and you can't help but think they're only saying that because it's an issue they can't get backlash on. And I'm standing by this until you can find someone who reads pokemon stories but thinks it's a good thing to abuse the pokemon.

(I've actually got the first chapter written to a story about an abusive trainer, which I find so much more interesting. No, that won't be posted anytime soon. Or ever, probably. But it's an idea I'd like to see.)

C'mon, people, show some originality!


	4. 3571

This particular idea pops up every now and then, and it's always stupid. I hate it mainly because it's so pointless. I mean, who cares?

I also dislike it when people can't figure out there's a different between image-based and text-based storytelling. Yes, you have a cool character design. But if she's supposed to be a warrior and **use** that armor, I'm going to ask why it covers less skin than underwear in the story. I'm also going to ask why she has tricolor hair and how anyone keeps five-foot hair glossy and sparkling while running around in the middle of the forest. This is because _reading_ someone's wearing something impractical is different from seeing it in a picture. It just is.

* * *

3571

-

"Hey," said a boy.

The group of trainers looked up. "Hello," said one uncertainly.

The newcomer looked mostly normal. He was wearing a wildly impractical outfit that looked as if it were based off an anime character, complete with gravity-defying flairs in his clothing. His neon-green hair was molded into an elaborate sculpture. However, there was one thing that stood out. Around his waist was a belt that looked like it was holding thousands of tiny pokeballs.

Misinterpreting their incredulous stares for envy, the boy grinned. "Cool, isn't it?" he said proudly, shifting so his improvable attire emphasized the belt. "It can hold 3571 pokemon."

The group exchanged glances, and then all began talking at once.

"What? That's ridiculous. You probably won't even manage to raise six pokemon high enough to win at the Indigo Plateau, let alone while raising three thousand others."

"Who'd need to catch three thousand? There aren't even four hundred known pokemon now, and some of those are unique and can't be caught."

"No one would ever be able to catch even a thousand pokemon, even if they spent their whole journey catching every single pokemon they came across."

"So what? More people fight in three-on-three fights anyway. Who cares if you'd got five hundred others, if I beat your three, I win."

Under the barrage, the boy seemed to wilt. Even his clothing drooped. "Well…I could catch a bunch of pidgey, tie them to a basket, and have them fly me places!"

The assembled facefaulted.

* * *

Seriously, I don't know where writers keep getting the idea that the only reason people carry six is just because the belts won't hold more. It's usually ten or twenty, although I remember at least one author chose eighteen. That's three times the usual amount, for those who don't see why the number was chosen.


	5. Practical Application

Studying is currently neck and neck with 'let's just not mention it' for why trainers start late (beating out 'I decided ten is too young', 'something was wrong at home' and other favorites). I've pointed out before that these trainers who start late are just going to lose to younger trainers, and yes, this is still true if you claim they were 'studying' (You may not argue this until you beat the Elite Four with a L5 starter). Now I'd like to explore what others might think of these 'late bloomers'.

With only mild malice, I present you with my newest offering.

* * *

Practical Application

-

Everyone at the center quieted as a newcomer entered. He was wearing stylish, well-cut black clothing, but what really caught their attention was the age. He looked like he was seventeen, at the least.

Most trainers stopped after just one or two years. He must have been talented to last so long. The youngest trainers swarmed around him.

"Hey, who are you?"

"How many badges did you get?"

"Did you fight at the Pokemon League this year?"

The trainer looked overwhelmed. Someone noticed he had only one pokeball on his belt. The babble turned excitedly to this. Why didn't he have more? Had something happened? What was it?

"I…um…I…." he stammered. He reached toward the pokeball, possible just to shield it from the horde, but he fumbled and knocked it off his belt. It hit the ground, bouncing and breaking open.

"Chic," it peeped.

The crowd was momentarily silenced.

"You've just got a torchic?" one asked at last.

"Yeah," he said, apparently unaware of the surrealistic picture he presented: a tall trainer, his dark clothing oozing coolness, standing next to a large-headed orange featherball. "I just started a few days ago."

The words caused a deeper and more ominous silence. The attention of one of the older trainers, a wiry fourteen year old, was attracted. "Why?" she asked. "Why wait?"

He puffed out his chest importantly. "Well," he began, "I've been studying."

"Studying what?"

He looked surprised. "Pokemon, of course."

"But your torchic is low level, you can't have had it long."

"Well, of course," he said. "I only got it when I started my journey."

The girl stared at him, boggling. Had she misheard? "But," she said slowly, "you said you were studying pokemon. If you didn't have one, how exactly…what were you doing?"

"Studying strategy and other important things," he said pompously. "Things you children know nothing about."

The girl's ire was raised. "So you have absolutely no experience with pokemon?"

"Yeah, so?"

"So you're a baseball player who's never held a bat, that's what." She gave him a disgusted look and walked off. "Moron," she muttered.

* * *

I don't know why OT stories start with the trainer getting their new pokemon even when they claim they've been studying for a few hundred years on pokemon. Seriously, why wouldn't they be raising a pokemon during that time? The pokemon's ability is more important than the trainer's ability. Why? Because it doesn't matter you know every possible move if your starter only has two, and it doesn't matter if you know the perfect strategy to win if any attack by the other pokemon will knock you out and it goes first. Knowledge helps, certainly, but it doesn't win battles by itself. Let's have some respect for the pokemon themselves.


	6. Heavy Load or Why Backpacking Sucks

Having been dragged on yearly camping trips, I know enough to know I don't know much. I. However, most of you know nothing about it, and I do know enough to cringe in horror when I read what people pack in fanfics.

Credit goes to Akivara for the idea of bringing a blanket. The idea is not, to my knowledge, a fanfic staple, but it was too disturbing to pass up. The rest of the things in here are all more common.

* * *

Heavy Load

or

Why Backpacking Sucks

-

Regina whistled, packing her bag. A blanket, her CD player and collection of CDs, a change of clothing, her pokedex, a few potions and pokeballs, some snacks, and she was ready. She slung her backpack easily on, the bag heavy but no worse than carrying textbooks. She set out.

Less than an hour later, she sat on the ground, breathing heavily. Who would have thought her bag would get so heavy while walking. Her CD player had gone silent, as she'd forgotten to change the batteries, so she'd taken it off. Her legs ached and her feet inside her sneakers throbbed. There was a sharp pain in her lower back, and her shoulders hurt as well. She couldn't move another step.

Not moving got boring. She stumbled back up. She felt thirsty. Regina kept walking, sure she'd find a clear, sparkling stream soon. Her feet began to feel strange, with specific points of pain rather than an overall ache.

She found a pond. By this point her mouth was so dry she could barely swallow. She lurched toward it, dipping her hands into the slightly yellow water and gulping it down until it sloshed sickeningly in her stomach. She flopped backward, lying down on the grass beside the water in exhaustion.

Then she shuddered, as the dampness of the ground began to seep through the light cloth on her back. She dragged herself a few feet away from the water and lay back down.

She didn't know how long she stayed there, but after a time she started to shiver. The sun was still up but she felt cold. She didn't move, sure it would get warmer again.

It started to get darker. She thought she should get the fire going. Although there was still light, she realized she couldn't make out sticks on the ground. She was forced to pat areas of dry earth blindly until her fingers touched wood. After she collected a handful, she tossed them into a pile.

Now what? If she'd gotten a fire type she could have just ordered it to light the branches, but she didn't have one. She'd chosen a totodile (so adorable!). The squat cyndaquil she'd also been offered had failed the cuteness requirement. She'd have to start the fire herself. Didn't people rub sticks together to make fire? She tried, but nothing seemed to happen.

By this point it was night, and she could barely see her hands. Shivering badly now in her t-shirt and trying to ignore her rumbling stomach, she pulled her blanket from her bag and lay down. She didn't feel much better. Only the top of her, directly touching the fabric, felt warm. The blanket didn't drop down straight, instead slanting off to the sides, so that there was an inch or two of air between it and her sides. The ground felt like it was sucking the heat from her back. She was freezing. She tried to roll the blanket around her, and it was just big enough for that. If she shifted at all, the wrap broke and unwound, exposing her to the chilly night air. She'd forgotten to change into her pikachu pajamas, so she fidgeted uncomfortably in her jeans and rhinestone studded shirt.

Somehow, she managed to get to sleep.

She was plagued by confused dreams and half-remembered awakenings. She imagined she was a cloud, cold and damp, then that she had fallen into a lake with icecubes.

She was pulled awake shortly before dawn, her stomach gnawing painfully at itself. She was shivering. Her blanket was muddy, and her long hair felt strange. Reaching up to touch it, she nearly screamed. Her hair was tangled into a mass of mud and grass.

Cold or not, she couldn't have her hair like that. She ran to the pond and plunged her head it, the icy water shocking and then numbing her face. Her hands also went numb and she frantically rubbed them through her snarled locks, trying to dislodge the soil.

When she couldn't take it any more, she stumbled back to her bag, her wet hair dripping down her back like melting ice, to retrieve a comb. She brushed her hair one-handedly while stuffing candy and snacks hungrily into her mouth.

Her wet hair still leeching heat from her scalp and back, she stood, backpack on, and began trudging forward. She was so tired she was sure she must have gone a long distance yesterday, so she must have been close to the next town, Sunshine. Just a little further and she'd be there, safe among concrete and neon lights.

She walked on. The blisters on her feet began to burst, and she started limping.

A group of trainers came up the path, coming from the other direction. They were all several years older, and were talking to each other as if they were enjoying themselves somehow. They had backpacks too, huge dark lumps like a giant leech attached to their backs. They stopped when they saw her. One laughed, more in sheer amazement than cruelty. "Oh my," she said. "How much does that weigh?"

"It's really heavy," Regina blurted.

More laughter. "Maybe you'd like to switch?"

"No. Why are you carrying all that stuff?"

"We're only carrying what we need," a boy said. "Not much compared to what people normally need at home. Just a few pairs of clothing, matches, pots, canteens, a knife, bandages, soap, a sleeping bag, food, a compass…"

Regina collapsed to the ground as she imagined how much that would weigh.

* * *

Technically, of course, one doesn't 'need' all the things listed above. Your trainer may indeed be able to 'rough it' with only a change of clothing, a blanket and a knife. However, if your trainer is less than twenty, it's not very likely. If they're more than twenty, it's still not very likely unless you have them taking a survival course at some point. And if they are traveling that light, they won't bring things like CD players or any of the other junk these poor trainers are being given. In theory, you can survive the great outdoors naked and without any tools. In practice, you can't. Because you wouldn't know the first thing about it. And even if you did, you're probably in the wrong climate and will just die of exposure.

How can this be dealt with?

Well, you could just not mention it. Rather than list a bunch of items in the standard 'leaving' scene, just have them leave and say the bag was packed. This makes sure you won't inadvertently give them an item like a CD player which no one in the right mind would take. Yes, I really, really hate that idea. What, your trainer is too good to take a nice, tough radio that won't require ten pounds of batteries to keep it working?

Or, you could say that in the pokemon world, they have a way of minimizing items just as they use pokeballs on pokemon.

Or you could actually research it and figure out what they want to bring. But since backpacking usually involves a fifty-pound bag, it's unlikely your trainer would be able to manage it.

Yes, fifty pounds. The next person who makes a reference to the bag being heavy but no worse than school bags will be forced to go to school carrying a fully packed bag for the next year. You may think I don't have the power to carry that out, but are you really willing to take that risk?

Remember, when in doubt, **shut up**, don't try to bluff.


	7. Ha! You Can't Criticize Me Now!

When I said, don't start it with them getting their first pokemon, I didn't mean that starting it randomly elsewhere would automatically make the story good. Dammit, what part of 'when it gets interesting' is just too complex for these people? Pick up and book and read it sometime!

Oh, and this was written without the aid of a thesaurus, so if the language isn't flowery enough, that's why.

And before I forget, I do not in any way endorse or encourage the current fad of writing a poorly spelled piece of junk with little paragraphs about the in-story author being an idiot to try to discourage/mock bad writing. Badfic is badfic, okay? I don't care if you have paragraphs in it mocking the fact the story-author can't spell three letter words and showing that it's a parody and you know how to write, it's still just garbage. You want to mock, write something decent, don't contribute to the problem.

* * *

Ha! You Can't Criticize Me Now!...oh

-

"Hm…" a girl said to herself. Her penname was Catherine Summerstorm, and, by amazing coincidence, she had written more than twenty stories in as many fandoms involving a character of the same name. "Some mean reviewer is going around and criticizing people's stories. She keeps complaining it's boring to start a story with the trainer starting out." The girl thought. "The reviewer is just being mean, but since I'm a really original author, I'll write something different! I'll start my story after my trainer has become a pokemon master and have them go to a new region. And that way, the mean reviewer can't complain about the character having rare pokemon! Even the mean reviewer will praise my story and everyone will love me!"

The girl felt a sudden, almost overpowering urge to scream "She's not a mary sue!" at the top of her lungs, but refrained. What was a mary sue anyway? But pushing aside the strange thought, she sat down at the computer. She'd just finished typing up the first chapter of a story about Catherine starting her pokemon journey. She'd use that.

The girl began to read over her story, basking in the glow of her own amazing writing.

_The sun was rising. Its luminous rays percolated through the crystalline windows of the room. On the bed inside, a girl began to stir._

_She had lustrous, waist-long red hair. Her closed eyelids fluttered as she started to wake, highlighting her prominent long lashes. After a moment, her eyes slowly opened, displaying her gorgeous emerald green irises. She yawned demurely, displaying perfect white teeth, and climbed out of bed, wearing silky pajamas._

_The girl, known as Catherine, walked over to her dresser_

The girl shook herself out of her daze, clicked on the screen, and began to type.

_atop which were her six pokeballs, pokedex and trainer belt._

There! thought the girl triumphantly. She's already got her pokemon now, which means I can give her anything I want. Of course, Catherine would have gotten any pokemon the author wanted, but it might have taken two or perhaps even three chapters before she got all of them. Now she would have them immediately without that painful period when Catherine's perfection was compromised.

_The pokemon were a suicune, ninetales, articuno, espeon, vaporeon, and mew. Catherine had raised them lovingly and been rewarded when they had beaten all of the Kanto gym leaders in amazing battles._

_Now, Catherine was ready to go to the new region of Prfect to defeat the trainers there, in a new adventure in an unknown land._

That should be enough for now, the girl thought, and returned to reading her perfect story.

_Catherine changed out of her pajamas into her traveling clothes, a stylish green outfit with black trim. She headed downstairs, where her mother was cooking breakfast. Catherine was much too great a character to eat plain cereal._

The girl blinked. Had she actually written that? Woops. She quickly moved that down to the author's notes at the bottom of the story.

_"Hello Catherine," her mother said. "Hurry up and eat. You need to go see the professor in order to get your_

Then she gritted her teeth. Now came the worst part. She would have to actually remove part of the dialogue, not just add something new. Flinchingly, she reached for delete key.

_ticket__." Catherine _

The author felt sick. Her hands trembled from the effort of actually deleting something from her story. But the word 'pokemon' just had to be changed for Catherine to be an experienced trainer. She felt pride despite her pain. Soon, no one would be able to criticize her story, not after the effort and suffering she had put in. To sooth herself, she added a bit in.

_finished__ her ham and cheese omelet. Although she often ate high-calorie meals, she managed to keep a slim, slightly muscular figure that was the envy of all the other girls at school. The young but talented trainer_

That made her feel better. The girl returned to reading the story.

_picked up her trendy green backpack and headed toward the lab._

_There, Professor Oak was waiting for her. Six_

The author steeled herself.

_tickets lay on the table. "Pick one, Catherine," Professor Oak said kindly. Catherine reached out and picked up one from the table._

_"I hope you enjoy your journey," he said._

Yes. This was the perfect story. The girl felt like crying, she was so moved. Blinking back the tears, she saved the story and then uploaded it onto fanfiction net.

She was very, very surprised by her first review.


	8. Training and Losing

(Dear, dear readers who wonder about how a ten year old could possible carry the necessary equipment, there is a simple answer. It's canon. When canon is strange, instead of undoing it, we write around it. Perhaps they can minimize items just as they can pokemon. Perhaps they're not really humans but are instead some other species that is stronger. Or perhaps they're not on earth but rather somewhere with lighter gravity (that would, after all, explain a lot). Or perhaps one can't think of an explanation and so just accepts it, but doesn't write anything to bring attention to the fact, such as listing what goes into the character's bag and having those items be ridiculous. Canon, precious, oft-abused canon, is not to be tossed aside so lightly. Follow it as best you can.)

Now…

Assuming the author doesn't lose interest before getting to this point, after the trainer gets their pokemon, there is the Obligatory First Battle™. There are two distinct breeds of the OFB. One is for the trainer to meet another person soon after leaving. In this instance, the trainer wins. The other is for the trainer to fight their Obligatory Canon-Clone Rival™, coming in your choice of Obnoxious Jerk or Trusted Friend. When the trainer fights their OCCR, they may win (that was the default originally) or more recently, in a desperate and futile attempt to fend off accusations of sueness, lose, with the author making it painfully clear that they, the Main Character, will ultimately be stronger.

And the authors do not do this. I guess it'd compromise the idea of the OT being an awesome pokemon trainer and future pokemon master. OTs almost never lose, and when they do, it's usually in a calculated manner that leaves no doubt they'll be the strongest soon (And it must, of course, be against someone important and someone they'll fight again). OT stories don't like to acknowledge that when you're a starting trainer, everyone can beat you, nor that pokemon battles are mainly just a test of who has the stronger pokemon, not something purely based on the character's amazing skills.

Several versions of the story today, some reflecting the reality I'd love to see sometime in these stories and others insulting the fantasy I'm so sick of seeing. Also, bonus mocking of people sticking too close to the game and the way OT teams are set up.

* * *

Training and Losing

-

Nick grinned, spying a trainer. He walked up. "Hey, you wanna fight?"

Nick was sixteen. He was thin and rangy, not a particularly intimidating look, but people would never think he was any younger than he was.

The other trainer, a bright-faced kid clearly just starting his journey, grinned. "Sure!" He threw the sole pokeball he was carrying, releasing a squirtle.

Nick wasn't a cruel person. He chose a nidorino, not a jolteon.

"Tackle!" cried the boy enthusiastically.

"Kick it," Nick said disinterestedly.

The squirtle charged. The nidorino, with the same jaded look as his trainer, spun around and kicked with his back legs. The squirtle went flying. It spun on its shell like a top when it landed, and when its spin slowed and limbed immerged, its dazed, swirly eyes made it clear it wouldn't be fighting further.

"What?" the boy said. "But…no one ever loses their first battle."

-

Another boy had also left that day. Named Herman, he walked through the fields, looking for pokemon to capture. He only found rattata, common pokemon that, judging from OT stories, no one ever trained. He didn't catch them.

Herman had his team all planned out, and didn't intend to catch any other pokemon even temporarily, because trainers never did that, perhaps reflecting the unease of the author over portraying pokemon as anything less than friends. Herman would only catch five pokemon, all of which he'd keep. He would get his favorite pokemon, raichu, dratini, and espeon, and then two other rare pokemon he ran into. Herman wasn't worried that having such high expectations would lead to him having to wait months before catching his second pokemon. He was sure he'd get at least one by the end of the day.

Oddly, he didn't find a dratini in the middle of a meadow. Instead, he found a trainer.

The other trainer was yet another boy, also ten. He had three pokeballs. This boy had started his journey a few hours earlier.

Herman still had only his bulbasaur. He hadn't even used it to fight the rattata he met, perhaps because authors like to gloss over that part of pokemon training. Still, he was Herman the future pokemon master. He was going to collect his team and storm through gyms, because he was destined to do so, or at least destined to be destined, as odds were the author would lose interest before actually getting to most of the gyms.

And this would be the first step on the path to victory, his very first battle where he would defeat his opponent and show his own supernatural skill. "Hey!" he yelled. "I challenge you to a pokemon battle!"

The other boy, unnamed since we don't care about him, agreed.

"Go Bulby!" Giving a pokemon a nickname set him apart as a trainer. It showed he was important, creative, and most of all, that he _cared_ about his pokemon.

"Go rattata!"

Rattata? Herman stared for a moment. But…no one would catch a rattata, right? He shook himself free of his thoughts. It just meant that only special trainers would wind up with special pokemon, and all the others they breezed past along the way would have rattata and pidgey. There was no need for consistency.

"Tackle Bulby!" Herman shouted. He, of course, knew all of bulbasaur's moves. He was sure this technical knowledge would allow him to dominate all others, even though from that knowledge he also knew that, at this level, bulbasaur only knew two moves.

"Tackle too, rattata!" the other boy yelled.

The two pokemon collided with a soft thunk. Both were low-level and too weak to cause big, dramatic things to happen as a result of their attacks.

"Tackle!" Herman yelled. Pokemon trainers did a lot of yelling, although exactly why that was remained unknown. Studies suggested it was related to the phenomena that caused Yugioh characters to yell during card battles. In an unrelated finding, the study also noted it looked a lot stupider in text than on a show.

"Tail whip!"

This time the rattata awkwardly smacked the bulbasaur in the face with its tail.

"Tackle again!" they both yelled.

The rattata was defeated. The boy recalled it and sent out his next pokeball. "Go rattata!"

"Growl!"

"Tackle!"

The rattata cringed at Bulby's growl, then tackled. This time, Bulby fainted.

"But…but…" Herman stammered. "No one ever loses to a trainer with common pokemon."

-

A third trainer now. Unlike the others, this trainer was determined. He knew it would be a hard struggle to become pokemon master. Like them, he didn't wish to train a common pokemon, even temporarily, but unlike them, he would focus on training his starter to make up for it.

Let's call this one Harry.

Harry, rather than challenge one of the roadside trainers, headed directly into the forest. He began training his Charmander on the wild pokemon there. Slowly it grew in levels until it learned Ember.

As Harry's author was slavishly devoted to the video-game version of pokemon, Harry knew that learning Ember meant his Charmander was Lv9. That wasn't strong enough for him. He considered staying in the forest until his Charmander evolved.

They fought, and fought, and fought, and then his Charmander ran out of Ember PP. It still had some Scratch PP but that wasn't super effective against the caterpie and metapods, and Charmander was pretty injured, so Harry decided to leave the forest and go to the PokeCenter in the next town to heal.

"Hey, wanna battle?" said a kid carrying a big net.

"Wha? Wait!" Harry protested, but it was too late. The other trainer had seen him and he was sucked into the battle. His opponent sent out a Lv9 Caterpie and ordered it to Tackle.

Harry released his Charmander and ordered it to use Scratch.

The two did so.

Harry's Charmander's HP were now in the red, and he'd already used up all his Potions. He ordered another Scratch and this one managed to knock out the Caterpie.

The other trainer sent out an Lv9 Weedle.

A poison-sting later, Charmander fainted.

"But…the hero never loses to lower-level pokemon…" Harry said, and blacked out.

-

And now we come to the fourth trainer, Harold.

Harold had gotten an eevee. He started off and ran into a pidgey.

"Tackle!" Harold yelled.

The pidgey used sand attack. Eevee missed.

"Try again!"

Eevee missed.

"Try again!"

Eevee missed.

Finally, the pidgey knocked out the eevee with a few gust attacks.

"But…no one ever loses to a wild pokemon," Harold told the pidgey. The pidgey chirped and flew away.

* * *

The moral?

Older trainers beat younger trainers. Trainers with more pokemon beat trainers with fewer pokemon. Trainers with healthy pokemon beat trainers with tired pokemon. And when you're a wimpy starting trainer, even normal wild pidgey can beat you.

Also, don't write something that reads like a transcript of the game and don't capitalize random words because It is Annoying.

And remember, your trainer was raised in the same basic culture as all other trainers. Either people think common pokemon are boring or they don't. Either people think you should catch every pokemon you encounter or they don't. There will be differences in opinion, but it shouldn't be broken into your trainer thinks this and everyone else thinks that. Also, if your trainer is nicknaming their pokemon, they shouldn't be the only ones doing so. And have some consistency on pokemon teams – if your trainer has a team of eevee evolutions and everyone else is raising caterpie, you have a problem.


	9. The NotSue

Now…

I know some of you mean well (others of you are just being evil and trying to get positive reviews on your own mediocre stories) but dammit, stop leaving reviews on stories about sues with 'it's perfectly okay as long as you fix (small inconsequential detail) and once you do that she won't ever be a sue'.

For example, enough with 'make the trainer lose occasionally'. I once tried to get an author to fix up their character. After trying to explain that it's not interesting reading about someone who's a super trainer and always wins, and after trying to explain that if he starts five years later he should be weaker than his peers, he decided that his trainer would lose a battle two chapters or so in because his pokemon would be injured before the fight began. So his trainer, just starting and with a single pokemon, would challenge an older trainer who had trained for at least six years than him, who had several pokemon, and the only reason the main character would lose was that his own pokemon was tired.

In the process of trying to avoid something he'd been told was sueish, he just made it worse. (I theorize this has something to do with the longer the sue-author thinks on something, the more self-aggrandizing it becomes. Alternatively, it could just be that authors try to make up for the character's forced failures)

Just…instead of saying that all someone needs to do to prevent a sue is avoid something, point out that the character looks sueish and that _some_ of the signs are X, Y, and Z. Stop telling them they're safe if they just avoid one thing. It leads to this.

* * *

The Not-Sue

-

Raven Moonbeam, a friend of Catherine Summerstorm, sat down at her computer. Recently the pokemon category had been experiencing some mild turbulence, owing in part to the introduction of the term 'mary sue' and in part to a mean reviewer who complained about people's stories and then didn't apologize when confronted. Reviews began to appear like 'I really like your story, but you should make sure your character doesn't always win/has some flaws/doesn't get only legendary pokemon because then she won't be a mary sue'.

Raven Moonbeam wasn't like Catherine Summerstorm, a textbook sue-author who believed every word to come out of her keyboard was perfection and wrapped her story in reflected love for her avatar. Unlike Catherine Summerstorm, Raven Moonbeam would only yell at complaining reviewers and then ignore them, instead of beginning a retaliatory flamewar.

But like Catherine Summerstorm, Raven Moonbeam had seen the reviews.

_I know_, she had thought, reading the advice people left on the stories. _All I have to do is make a character who does the things the reviewers suggest, and she won't be a sue. Then everyone will love me!_

Raven knew from the reviews that a mary sue was a perfect character. All she had to do was give her some flaws, like being insecure even though she was really talented or a temper or maybe have her have an unhappy life with everyone being mean even though she was nice or have people be jealous of her and it wouldn't be a sue. And so Raven began to type.

_Raven Moonbeam climbed out of bed, brushing her long, silky black hair out of her eyes. She blinked at her reflection in the mirror, showing a slender girl with milky skin and a clear face. Her indigo eyes moved across the room, taking in the battered wood floor, the old, dingy window. Sighing, she walked down the creaking wooden stairs._

That was good, thought Raven Moonbeam. She wasn't living in a huge perfect mansion and she didn't have tri-colored eyes. Already she wasn't a sue. Now to make sure the reviewers noticed.

_The house was falling apart. Raven hated it. She wondered why she had to live in such an awful place. It was cold, drafty, and uncomfortable._

There! Now, Raven Moonbeam continued,

_Today Raven was old enough to get her first pokemon._

Here Raven Moonbeam paused. She remembered a mean reviewer who kept complaining that trainers who were seventeen were too old. How old were trainers supposed to be? Raven Moonbeam remembered reading another review by someone who had a whole site about writing pokemon characters, and they had mentioned a thirteen year old starting trainer. And certainly they would know.

_She was finally thirteen, finally old enough to leave this place._

Now, what else had the reviewers mentioned? Having everyone like them, right?

_Downstairs, her foster mother was sitting at the table. "Finally up?" she said nastily. "You'd better hurry if you want to get to work on time."_

So one person didn't like her. That wouldn't be enough. Raven had to be completely not a sue.

_Raven had forgotten about that. Her parents had died when she was young, and ever since then she'd been passed around to different foster families. None of them had ever cared about her at all. They made her work to earn money so they didn't have to do anything and beat her constantly. She hated it._

Raven Moonbeam paused to mentally pat herself on the back. There was no way **this** was a sue. She was so unhappy! Now, what else could she make go wrong?

_No breakfast for her. Of course, even if she had the time, her foster mother wouldn't let her eat. She'd just say Raven was too fat and ugly and needed to lose weight, and then go on to talk about her disgusting, stringy hair and hideous eyes._

Now that was mean! thought Raven Moonbeam. Of course, it wasn't really true.

_Raven was actually thin, and didn't know that her foster mother was just jealous because she could never get as thin as Raven, or have hair and eyes as beautiful. _

And now what? Right, she needed to worry about getting to her job.

_Raven rushed out the door, hoping desperately she wouldn't be late. She'd be fired and if that happened her foster parents would be furious._

That wasn't enough. Raven Moonbeam had to make sure no one would ever think this was a sue.

_The few people on the street muttered nastily to each other as she passed. Probably talking about what a lazy, worthless girl she was. Everyone in the town hated her because she was an orphan. A 'burden on the community', they told her. Whenever they saw her rushing to get to work, all they ever thought was how lazy and stupid she was to have slept late. No matter how hard she tried they always thought the same thing. _

They were such jerks! Raven thought, seething.

_None of them ever bothered to actually pay attention to her before judging her. They all just made up their minds before she'd done anything. They'd let their own kids throw rocks at her for fun, and if she tried to defend herself they'd report back to her foster mother. They were just mean, self-important morons. She glared at them as she passed._

_Raven burst through the door of the restaurant. Her boss, Tony Sampson, glared at her. "Just in time," he muttered grimly. "You'd better be sure to get here faster."_

_Jerk, Raven thought. He always had it out for her. No matter how hard she worked, he was never satisfied and if she did anything wrong at all, she'd get yelled at. He'd even hit her if he felt like it. He knew no one would complain. And he was just waiting for an excuse to fire her. He made her come in early and work late, running the bar by herself with all the drunks hitting on her._

Yes, yes! thought Raven Moonbeam. This was perfect. Everyone was mean to her. And now she could have Raven be even more unhappy, adding to the drama and making her even less of a mary sue!

_With a resigned sigh, Raven moved behind the counter as Tony went into the kitchen. Almost no one ever came in this early, but she had to show up anyway. He just liked making her do what he wanted. She stared at the door, incredibly bored. Her thoughts returned to her birthday._

Raven Moonbeam thought about the reviewers mentioning how it was sueish to get pokemon easily. So that wouldn't happen.

_Raven had wanted a pokemon for as long as she could remember. Unfortunately, her foster parents had always forbidden her to keep a pokemon, no matter how small. Once she'd tried to sneak one in. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes as she remembered how her foster father had smacked her in the head, sending her into the wall and making the baby eevee fall out of her arms. He hadn't even looked at it as he punched her in the stomach._

_Raven kicked the back of the counter angrily, willing herself not to cry. Just then the doors opened. Blinking furiously to push back the tears, she looked up._

Other reviews had complained about how all the characters would fawn over sues, and how other characters would always think they were pretty. Raven Moonbeam wouldn't make that mistake.

_Her bad day was getting worse. She watched as Jerry and his followers walked in._

_Jerry was two years older than her and delighted in tormenting her. He had a bunch of pokemon too, big nasty ones. Sometimes he'd send them out to attack her when she was walking home, just to make her have to run away and be late. He sauntered up to the counter._

_"What an ugly bird," Jerry said, turning to one of his lackeys. "This place is just getting filled with vermin, isn't it?"_

_"What do you want?" Raven said angrily._

Well, thought Raven Moonbeam, what else could Jerry do that would be mean?

_Jerry pretended to be surprised. "What? It talks? And in such an ugly voice, too!" The other two boys laughed._

_Raven's cheeks reddened. He'd been insulting her voice ever since he'd caught her singing to herself while she walked home._

Of course, Raven's voice wasn't really ugly, thought Raven Moonbeam.

_Raven's voice was actually incredibly beautiful, but she didn't know that. No one had ever complemented her on anything. "I said, what do you want?"_

_"Now, now," Jerry said, wagging his finger at her. "Better be polite to your customers, dumb murkrow. Wouldn't want anyone to complain about you being rude."_

Jerry was such a jerk! Raven Moonbeam thought angrily.

_"Shut up," Raven snapped._

_Jerry laughed and shoved her. She stumbled backward, knocking against the bottles on the shelves._

_Raven shoved him back just as her boss came in._

_He glowered at her. "Raven! You good-for-nothing brat! How dare you do that! You're fired."_

_"Fine!" she yelled back, jumping over the counter and running out the door._

_Everything always went wrong, Raven thought. Everyone took out whatever happened on her because they knew she couldn't do anything._

_She couldn't go back home. It wasn't really her home, anyway. Just another place she'd been stuck in that she didn't want._

_She'd run away. Her foster parents would never let her be a pokemon trainer anyway, and why should she even bother to tell them? It wasn't like they'd care. With that in mind, she headed toward the forest surrounding the town._

And now, thought Raven Moonbeam, it was time for Raven to get her first pokemon and start her journey.

_"Esp?" asked a voice._

Yes, Raven Moonbeam thought triumphantly. This was the perfect character who wasn't at all a sue. She began thinking about the next chapters, when Raven would start to collect her pokemon, who would of course be really strong and love and support Raven when things went wrong and of course there would have to be a battle with Jerry where she'd win, and then go on to beat everyone and be the greatest trainer of them all.

Raven Moonbeam saved the document and posted it. Now, she knew, the praise would pour in when everyone saw how she had made a character who was not at all a sue.


	10. Pokemon School

For the love of various gods, people, stop doing this.

* * *

Pokemon School

By a Farla who, unlike some, actually respects basic logic.

-

There was a pokemon school in Pallet.

Shut up, there just was, okay?

Ahem. There was a pokemon school in Pallet. Professor Crabapple was in charge of it. Every year one star student was selected to become a pokemon trainer at age seventeen. Because sixteen, well, who'd send a little sixteen year old out into the world all alone? And eighteen is just way too old.

Even though it might appear to some of the more foolish readers that kids could start being trainers the moment they turned ten, all of them went to the school and learned instead, on the faint chance they might be the one and only student in their year to become a trainer.

And today was Exam Day. Everyone had studied frantically and now had the opportunity to prove their knowledge in subjects that varied between diagnosing and treating pokemon illnesses to the mental state of pokemon, although it did not include ways to guess levels or pokemon attacks.

Of course, with three hundred and eighty-six different pokemon, the task was quite impossible.

James Adams was currently sweating over question three. _If your snorunt seems lethargic, what is the probable cause, related symptoms to check for and the correct treatment?_ He'd never even seen a snorunt and didn't intend to change that. And as they were native to Hoenn, it could be stated with reasonable certainty he'd never have one, let alone have to deal with any illness. He'd guessed at the last two questions, involving a farfetch'd and a chansey. His classmates were doing little better, although one would have the superb luck to have a question on a pokemon she actually knew halfway through the test.

Somehow, James finished the test.

**Abrupt Scene Change**

"James," Professor Crabapple said, "you got the highest score ever recorded at Pallet Pokemon School."

"I – I did?"

Professor Crabapple nodded. "Yes. A six."

"Yes!"

"Unfortunately, one of your classmates outscored you. He got a seven." Professor Crabapple turned to another boy, Jake Winters, as James collapsed to the floor in shock. "As the highest scorer in this year's class, and therefore the most qualified, you will be a pokemon trainer." He handed over six pokeballs, a pokedex, and various items. "I've given you a rattata as your first pokemon."

**Another Abrupt Scene Change**

Jake had been traveling for weeks, and still hadn't met another trainer to have a pokemon battle with. He'd fought some of the wild pokemon, but it wasn't the same as fighting against another human.

He arrived at last in Pewter.

"Where's the pokecenter?" he asked.

"Oh?" the woman said. "It's closed right now."

"What? It can't be closed! What if a trainer came along with an inj-"

"There haven't been any trainers in five months. It's ridiculous to keep that whole building powered up, air-conditioned, and with a Nurse Joy there twenty-four hours a day on the off-chance one of the three or four trainers in Kanto might decide to show up. Do you have any idea how expensive it is to run?"

"The pokemart?"

"Closed from lack of business."

"Gym?"

"Same."

* * *

And in closing: **There are a lot of trainers**. If you have only two or three people graduating, or one per town or some other stupid thing you've thought up, your trainers have no one to fight and the expensive infrastructure has no reason to be there. I don't care how special you want your trainer to be, there are a lot of them. Deal with it.

And no one would go to a school that makes them wait an extra year, let alone the two or three or five that show up in fanfiction.


	11. Nicknames

Granted, the impossibly obscure isn't better, especially not for your average ten year old trainer. But at least it'd be a change of pace.

And I really do wonder how they manage battles. Can't you just see two charmander-toting newbie trainers, who both chose the nickname Blaze, attempting a rather confusing battle?

* * *

"Hello, I was wondering if you could take part of a survey." The woman smiled hopefully, a clipboard under one arm.

"Sure," the trainer said.

"Okay. This is a survey on pokemon nicknames. What pokemon do you have?"

"Well, there's Hydro."

"A totodile?"

"Oh, no, a squirtle."

"That's interesting."

"I know, I make it a point to give my pokemon original names."

"No, I meant it's interesting that it's a squirtle. Only 57 percent of trainers named their squirtle Hydro, compared to 91 percent of totodiles." The woman wrote something. "Your next pokemon?"

"That's be Blade."

"Scyther or scizor?"

"Uh, scyther."

"89 percent," the woman said to herself, writing it down. "Next?"

"Cinder."

"A cyndaquil?"

"No, a ponyta."

"Ah, very interesting. Only 42 percent of ponyta are named Cinder."

"And then there's Cerberus."

"Houndoom?"

"Yeah."

"97 percent."

"And Snowflake, of course."

"Smoochum?"

"Well, she's evolved into a jynx now."

The woman wrote that down, muttering, "81 percent, 29 percent."

"And my last one's Moonlight."

"An umbreon?"

The trainer nodded.

"99.2 percent. Thank you for your time."


	12. Heroics

Blame this one reading one too many OMG I WILL DEFEAT EVIL ROCKETS!1! stories. Anyway, to say nothing of the fact adults would probably have stronger pokemon…

* * *

Unorginality: Heroics

By a wondering why people don't get this Farla

-

"Hey, stop!"

The man turned, staring at the kid calmly. He was around thirty, in decent shape although not especially muscular. The boy, in contrast, was ten and scrawny. He was a bit on the tall side, big enough that he probably hadn't been bullied that much in the last few years. He was young, self-confident, ready to do the Right Thing.

The rocket released the man's collar, allowing the Silph employee to slump back against the wall. "What?"

"Stop!" the boy announced again, holding out his single pokeball. "Or else fight me!"

The man pulled out his gun and aimed. "Kid, I don't fight pokemon battles."


	13. Better

(I'd like to take a moment to thank my anon reviewer Linda Meyer for giving me the opportunity to explain some simple things to my readers.

(I wholeheartedly support anonymous reviews, both for those who don't maintain FFN accounts or don't want to bother logging in and for those who wish to hide their identify so they can speak their minds without fear of repercussion.

(That said, if you're going to be anonymous and leave me no way of contacting you, try to minimize the assumptions. If it's possible I might have no idea what the hell you're going on about, please give me some background. I'll be less confused and you'll look like less of a nutcase. Everybody wins.)

Anyway.

This is an amazingly insidious and amazingly common feature of pokemon stories. It's also something I find amazingly annoying.

That said, this will not be a particularly joking parody. Because, all joking aside – I really don't like this.

* * *

Better

-

Once, on Hannah's travels, she had come across a boy her age kicking his pokemon.

It was not hard to come across him. The boy had placed himself directly on the path, not even, Hannah thought with disgust, bothering to hide his pokemon abuse. Instead, the jerk was acting practically exhibitionist. If he hadn't been right there, she would never have found him, but still, she couldn't help but feel angry that he would think so little of what he was doing, that he would act as if it was perfectly normal, as if he could do it in broad daylight without any problems.

Hannah did not concern herself with why the boy was there. It did not occur to her that the most likely place for two trainers to meet in the area was while both were traveling on the path, nor to infer from such a thing that the boy had probably just had a battle, and it had probably gone poorly. She did not care about, and therefore did not notice, that the boy's clothing, while not quite shabby, was worn, far from her own well-maintained and regularly replaced attire, or that, while not gaunt, the boy was somewhat thin, and his backpack not exactly bulging with food or supplies. He was, in other words, not a trainer who was doing particularly well.

Had Hannah noticed any of this, she would have observed, with some moral righteousness, that it was exactly what he deserved. How could anyone who mistreated their pokemon do well? And certainly she was proof that treating pokemon well meant success – she had always done so, and since starting on her journey, she could count the number of battles she'd lost on a single hand.

So of course, the first word out of her mouth was "Hey!" and it was followed by angrier, more accusing words. Of course.

Because what sort of a jerk would abuse their pokemon?

-

Hannah's journey continued, as such things do. And she came across a girl one day, one with a pidgey.

Well, not exactly. Had Hannah walked slightly slower, that was what she would have come across, and she would have thought nothing of it. No one would.

What Hannah did come across was a pidgey with a bruised wing, a stone on the ground, and a girl with another rock in her hand.

It did not occur to Hannah that the girl was young, or that her face was not particularly cruel, only focused. It did not occur to Hannah that the girl held the rock as if she knew how to throw, and that, if the girl had wanted, she could probably have killed the low-level pidgey with her previous stone. Nor did Hannah, at that moment, notice the single pokeball in the girl's other hand, nor would she have cared if she had.

"Hey!" she shouted as the girl prepared to try the pokeball. "What do you think you're doing?"

The story came out; such things always do. Hannah listened with the air of a judge. She did not care for the surrounding details, for she was trying to cull the information relevant. So everything leading up, the words that come before the final phrase, all was discarded.

And when that phrase appeared, Hannah pounced.

"Capture it?" she said angrily, of course. And of course, she proceeded to yell at the girl about the barbarity of her action.

Because what sort of jerk would attack a pokemon?

-

And Hannah continued to travel. She had acquired her team of six early, and they fought well and she, by extension, did very, very well.

And one day she came across a boy.

This alone would not have mattered, had it not been that it was a boy chasing a teddiursa with the help of a growlithe.

Hannah saw the teddiursa running and from this, she concluded, rightly, that it did not wish to be caught.

And, if the boy's expression was not simple greed, if his face and arms were scratched red from twigs and brambles during the long chase, what of it? The teddiursa was running and that was all Hannah needed to see. As the growlithe pounced, as the teddiursa hit the ground squealing, she stepped forward.

"Hey!" she shouted. "Stop that! How can you be so heartless!"

The two turned, twin expressions of shock on their faces, and the teddiursa pulled itself free and scrambled into the bushes. "What? But I was only –" the boy tried to say.

"Don't you even think about how the poor teddiursa felt?" Hannah began, of course.

Of course. Because what sort of a jerk would try to catch a pokemon that didn't want to be caught?

-

And Hannah continued, traveling from town to town, city to city, winning some, and winning others. What better proof could there be that she was right as a trainer?

"I've almost got enough for an eevee," the girl said. "They're so cute, I just love them."

That the girl had gotten a caterpie back from the Nurse Joy was not important to Hannah, nor that the girl had three other pokeballs on her belt.

"Hey!" Hannah said. "How can you say something like that!"

The girl looked at her, startled and frightened by Hannah's yelling. "I – I didn't – what did I – " she started to say.

"How can you be so shallow! Only liking a pokemon because it's cute!"

"But..." the girl said, stammering slightly, "don't you have an eevee?"

"Yes," Hannah snapped, of course. "I found it. I didn't decide to get one just because I thought it was _cute_," she said, her voice scornful and disgusted. Of course.

Of course. Because Hannah was a good trainer.

Her first pokemon, like many trainers, was one she caught herself. But Hannah had found one already injured. For Hannah, there had been no need to stalk, no need for stones or nets.

And if Hannah, in truth, would have done that, what does it matter? Because it never came up, she is a better person than those who did.

Hannah's first pokemon had been strong. It had won and she had praised it. It had continued winning, and she had continued praising. She had never raised her voice, never insulted it, never hit it.

And if Hannah, in truth, only behaved like that because she was never given any reason to do otherwise, what does it matter? Because she was never frustrated with her pokemon and so never felt like yelling or hitting, she is a better person than those who did.

Hannah's first pokemon had been strong, so that when she went to capture her next, the battle was over swiftly, and the skitty too injured to run.

And if, in truth, it would have? And if, in truth, Hannah would have followed? It doesn't matter. Because it never happened, Hannah never could, and so she is a better person than those who did.

The look of fear, the shift in posture to begin flight, these things do not count. And if Hannah is quick to notice in others what she did not notice herself, well, you can't expect her to pay attention to such things when she is trying to get that one special pokemon, can you? And so she is a better person, because she never caught a pokemon she noticed did not want to be caught.

And if Hannah never had to hunt an elusive, favorite pokemon for days, because by luck she found what she wanted on her path, what does it matter? Because she did not, she can say truthfully that her pokemon are ones she came across, not ones she sought out for shallow reasons. And if this is chance rather than personal nobility, what of it?

That Hannah would have done these things does not matter. Because she never had to, she is a better person than those who did.

Of course.


	14. Coniferous

I felt this needed to be said.

* * *

The various pokemon professors milled about at their annual Christmas party, engaging in lively debate and getting mildly drunk.

"...and he claimed the togepi was found near a fossil site. Of course, Ash also said that a fossilized aerodactyl tried to eat him, so he's not exactly the most reliable source," Prof. Oak was saying to Prof. Elm.

Off in another area of the room, Prof. Birch was recounting the time he'd managed to get both a poochyena and zigzagoon after him at the same time. "But once I was cornered, the two began fighting over who got to attack me," he told the female member a pair of researchers from a far east island, Prof. Akebia, who nodded politely and shot a desperate glance towards her colleague, Prof. Enoki, who was currently ensnared by Prof. Wisteria, another woman.

Meanwhile, Prof. Beech, Prof. Chokecherry and Prof. Hickory were sitting at a table discussing the finer points of wurmple evolution, while Prof. Willow and Prof. Aspen debated the relative merits of wild verses bred pokemon ("It's true it's easier to get a control, but you must admit the very act of breeding a strain can bias results."). Prof. Eucalyptus entered late, no doubt delayed on his plane ride - he was situated on a far southern continent, and such things often occurred - and wandered over to talk with Prof. Bay and Prof. Camphor. A few minutes later, another man entered.

"And who might you be?" asked the older Prof. Maple with touch of amusement.

His eyes flickered to the corner for a second, where the large Christmas tree was standing. "Prof. Pine," said the twenty-something man after a half second. He looked annoyed when she laughed gently. "What?"

"Dear," said Prof. Maple, "We're of division magnoliophyta, not pinophyta." At his blank look, she added, "Broad leaf trees, dear, broad leaf trees."

* * *

To recap canon, male professors technically don't just have tree names, they have the names of broad leaf trees - Oak, Elm and Birch. All of these are division magnoliophyta, class magnoliopsida. Magnoliophyta technically means 'flowering plants', but for those of you who are still wondering at the idea of trees that aren't pines, I imagine that's a bit too complex a concept.

More to the point, Pine is just a _really stupid name_. Stop it or I'll beat you with a Christmas tree.

There is a tree for every personality type, setting, appearance and foreshadowing need. And that's not even taking into account the vines. Remember Prof. Ivy? Yes, it was horribly sexist. It's still an option. Be clever and name the women after vines that can kill trees, or name a male professor after some wimpy vine. And if you want be really clever, you could name assistants after various shrubs. Do you realize all the options you're squandering?

(And for all of you 'taking Japanese and totally not ignorant' little authors, you'll be amazed to learn that the Japanese did not just sit around waiting for us to get there to name their plants for them. If your little Atakaina-chan says goodbye to her kassan-sama and trots over to the professor-san, you'd better be at least using an appropriate plant.)


	15. A Different Starting Point

I don't know why this hasn't occurred to anyone else, but I can think of a few possibilities involving the general ability of OT writers, most of which are insulting.

* * *

"You lost again, huh?"

Eric opened his eyes . He'd been half-asleep, dozing on one of the pink couches at the pokecenter. He saw Alex's face and groaned, closing his eyes again. "What do you want?"

"Your pokemon are getting crushed! You're a wreck, and you're spending all your time either moping around here or else running back to that gym."

"So?"

"So the League tournaments start in a month, idiot! If you don't have your eighth badge by then, you're not going to be competing."

"I'll get it," he said flatly.

"Here? No one's gotten the Earth Badge in ages, not since that new pokemon showed up. You're the only one stubborn and stupid enough to keep trying. You're obsessed, Eric, do you understand? There are plenty of other gyms-"

"I said I'll get it." Eric pushed himself off the couch and walked past her without a glance. "My pokemon are probably healed by now."

* * *

Where does it go now? I don't know. Maybe Eric, skulking (or sulking) around the gym, sees some rockets and starts to investigate. Or maybe Eric gets lucky somehow and manages to beat Mewtwo, leading to…well, who knows? Or maybe _Alex_ gets involved with something weird and sucks Eric in. Or anything else you want. Eric, age something in the teens, in possession of seven badges and high-level pokemon, can handle whatever you want to throw at him, and as a bonus, doesn't require some frantic canon rape to explain his age or pokemon's ability.

See? You can start a story about older trainers with powerful pokemon without ignoring canon. In fact, it's _really easy_.


	16. The Early Bird

The Early Bird

-

Aaron trotted along Route 1, heading toward Viridian City, the morning sun not yet high in the sky. It was his first day as a trainer – his first hour, even, as he'd gotten his pokemon at seven o'clock sharp, the moment Professor Oak's lab had opened. He'd picked bulbasaur, his favorite as well as the one suggested by all the guidebooks, and was feeling optimistic. He knew it would be a long, hard road to being a trainer, as he slowly built up his team, trained his pokemon, battled others until he was finally deserving of eight badges and worthy of competing at the Indigo Plateau.

He managed to catch a pidgey, female nidoran and mankey by the early afternoon. He alternated between them as he trained against the wild pokemon of the area. He used potions to heal his pokemon between fights, glad he had spent his hard-earned money on the items. It was a good investment, and also made things easier on his pokemon. Once he got to Viridian he could use the Pokecenter there, but he didn't want to delay his training.

"Hey!" shouted a voice behind him.

Aaron turned to see a girl his age running up the path behind him, with four pokeballs on her belt and a backpack positively bulging with supplies. He recognized her as one of his classmates, although he didn't know her well. Her name was Luki. So, she'd gotten her first pokemon today as well.

She caught up. "Hi Aaron! You started today too?"

Aaron nodded. "I picked a bulbasaur. You?"

Luki giggled. "Well, I was late, so…why don't we have a battle, and I'll show you?"

"Okay," Aaron agreed, picking his pidgey's pokeball.

Luki giggled again. "But I should warn you, there's no way you'll beat me!" She threw out a pokeball.

A shiny umbreon appeared, obviously high level. Aaron stared. "That's your starter?"

"Well, Prof. Oak was out of the regular starters by the time I got there. I overslept a little, so I didn't wake up until one. By that time, all the others had been picked. But, I begged Prof. Oak for a pokemon, so he gave me these! Also he gave me lots of cool items."

"These?" Aaron repeated with a sinking feeling in his stomach.

"Yep!" She threw out the three others. A dragonair, an aerodactyl and a…"That's my starter," she said proudly. "Mewtwo!"


	17. Tedium

Isn't it enough that these stories are going to be abandoned before the second chapter? Must what little is posted be…well, _this_?

* * *

Margaret yawned, getting up out of bed and putting on clothes. She headed down for breakfast.

"Oh, you're up early," said her mother. "You must be so excited if you're up at five."

"Hey sis!" chirped her brother Mark.

"Heya squirt." Margaret paused. "Why are you up?"

"…" Realizing he had no further reason to exist, Mark disappeared into a nearby plothole.

"You're going out, right?" prompted her mother.

"Huh? Oh, yeah." Margaret sat down and ate breakfast, then left.

She walked outside. Margaret lived in Jenerik Town. She walked to her friend's house and rang the doorbell.

Maybelline came out. "Oh, hey Margaret."

"Hey 'Line. You ready?"

Maybelline nodded. "Yeah, I can't wait! This is the most incredible thing ever!"

"Yeah! Let's go!"

The two walked along to their other friend's house. Margaret rang the doorbell.

Mich came out. "Hey! You guys are ready?"

They nodded. "You ready?" asked Margaret.

"Yeah."

"Okay, let's go," Maybelline said, and they started off to the next friend's house.

Thirty-seven houses later, the group was finally assembled.

"Huh. It's getting dark," Matt said.

"Not again!"

Margaret sighed. "Guess we'll have to try again tomorrow." She grinned at the camera. "And that's the end of the chapter! Bye for now!"

"Wha? Wait! We haven't done anything! No one's even mentioned the word po-" Mazanita was promptly muzzled by her friend. She struggled loose. "But we didn't do anything! What was the point? _What was the point?_ Aah!" The group jumped her, covering her mouth and dragging her off.

"Er, sorry about that," Margaret said. She smiled at the camera again. "See you next time for another filler chapter! I hope you like the cliffy!"


	18. And now, a word from the spearow

Dear Pokemon Fanfiction Authors,

It has come to our attention that we're rather common in your stories, particularly in the guise of attacking trainers.

First, we'd like to make it clear we have no objection to this. (And should you ever be inclined to wander into our territory, we'd be happy to take you on as well.) Our objection, however, is your portrayal of us as violent, cruel and generally evil, as well as ugly and less desirable than those obnoxious pidgey.

I ask you, which is more evil, the pokemon that risk life and wing to protect their comrades – many of which, let's admit, your trainers were bothering unnecessarily, with no intention of capturing – or the craven, selfish and utterly despicable ones who ignore their fellow bird being attacked? Which of us is the noble species? Those every-bird-for-itself, screw-you pidgey? Please.

Nor are we ugly. You want ugly, take a look at those messed-up beaks the pidgey have – ugh. So deformed and stunted the things can't even use a simple peck attack. And fat! Let's just say you don't see half as many things preying on us spearow as you do those lardbutt pidgey.

Did I mention what cowards they are? Because boy, are they ever. We get demonized because we take over areas push out the pidgey, well, what did you expect? You want us to go hungry so they can get even fatter? It's no different than you humans who get together for a common goal. You guys didn't exactly find those cities just sitting there for you. The reason the pidgey lose (aside from being fat, lazy, and generally inferior) is that they won't work together. It's all, 'Sure, you just got pushed out of your territory, but what do I care?' Jerks, I tell you.

You call them peaceful? I call that lazy. They're not sitting there thinking 'Oh, I'd like to intervene to help out my friend being pulverized by that nidorino, but I simply couldn't cause any more violence.' They aren't even noticing, or else they're thinking 'More seeds for me!' The reason they ignore you beating up members of their flock is because they just don't care you're doing it, not some sort of deep-seated pacifism. And the ones you are fighting? They're not getting beat up out of some sort of noble restraint, whatever your stupid pokedex says, they just suck at fighting, with their messed-up beaks and general inferiority.

Oh sure, it's all very convenient for you, but does that make _them_ the better species?

- The Greater Kantonian Spearow Alliance

PS – The beedrill would like it mentioned that they'd really appreciate it if you stopped writing them, who are, incidentally, nectar gatherers, as bloodthirsty just because they protect their young (unlike those jackass butterfree).


	19. Verbose

A singular boy tossed out a spherical object, which possessed the approximate diameter of an orange colored citrus fruit from a semi-tropical tree. One half of the globe was a bright crimson with a spot of white glare where the light caught on the orb's polished surface and was redirected outward, while the other half was an achromic color. The ruby and pearl of the spheriod were separated by a band approximately the width of a fat pen that was cinereal in color, which had a rounded circular protrusion of the same ashen shade that was slightly larger in diameter than the circlet of neutral coloration. The two half-circular sections of differing color separated with only the area directly opposite the button-like area remaining attached and the rest of the seam opening in such a way as to exactly bisect the thick line of ashen cast, with the distance greatest between the button and its opposite concave mirror area.

A mostly white energy that was flecked with red, ecru, copper, tangerine, brown-green, bronze, brown-blue, sage, teal, straw, malachite, crimson, vermeil, orange, lilac, brick, royal purple, peach, vert, coral, burgundy, royal blue, brown-orange, grass, lemon, yellow-red, cerise, green-purple, chartreuse, sapphire, orange-red, magenta, gold, yellow-green, cherry, amber, platinum, claret, violet, straw, indigo, dahlia, ochre, brown-purple, roseate, beryl, pomegranate, yellow, ultramarine, khaki, reddish blue, turquoise, spinach, azure, orange-purple, bisque, stramineous, red-purple, damask, wheat, green-red, fuchsia, blue, garnet, purple-red, lime, saffron, yellow-purple, olive, pink, orange-blue, umber, geranium, orange-yellow, navy, brown, blue-yellow, apple, red-brown, verdigris, lavender, yellow-orange, plum, yellow, maroon, brown-red, cobalt, green, blue-brown, canary, tan, green-orange, beige, willow, blue-red, puce, honey, red-yellow, violet, kelly, orchid, green-brown, carmine, orange-green, rose, perse, cerulean, light brown, purple, ruby, bluish red, coffee, pea, blue-green, scarlet, yellow-brown, peacock, red-orange, champagne, brown-yellow, amethyst, purple-brown, russet, salmon, red-green, mulberry, dark blue, chrome, orange-brown, jade, heliotrope, green-blue, ivory, sanguine, purple-green, purple-orange, aquamarine, purple-blue, mauve, terra cotta, viridian, caramel, vermilion, yellow-blue, chestnut, purple-yellow, olive-brown, rubicund, red-blue, strawberry, emerald, cardinal, blue-purple, and cream colors that blended into the dominant white hue spewing forth in a messy crescent shape down toward the terra firma with a sound both mechanic and organic. The form of this substance was irregular, with jagged but rounded edges, and seemed to be expanding as the white glow left the bisected rounded object for several seconds before the last of it exited. This light condensed on the irregular verdant slender stretched triangular plants that were atop of the semiflat mixture of organic and inorganic materials.

What formed was approximately three feet in size. Two spherical projections tapered from points into broader bases onto the precursor of leather that covered the whole of the entity. Two large flaps made mostly of this material dangled downward on either side, and between them was a squarelike area of the same color that terminated above two semispherical white and black interruptions in the mostly smooth plane of the protrusion.

And that was just the head.

Directly below it about a foot in distance was a large round circle of snow-colored follicles with four rose tinted protuberances arranged in a four-cornered shape. Beyond that lay a more dull selection of pink, white and brown, leading to four other, larger protuberances arranged in a similar shape higher and lower that each terminated in a hard, nail-like substance. Additionally directly opposite the highest spheriod at the end.

The girl squinted. Rose...nail-like substance...snubbull?

"Er, go," she articulated orally, catapulting forward a similar yet different object. Unlike the previous orblike device the semisphere halves on the top and bottom were both colored the same alabaster shade and the circle-like division between the two was coral in color, as was the central flat mini-sphere. It opened in much the same way releasing something similarly colored and mostly white.

What formed was approximately one foot shorter than the girl Its five limbs ended in ochre. Further inward they were pale crimson in cast, melding into the claret tinted center of mass. Above this area was ebony coloration with an irregularly shaped circle in the front that was rosy instead. A split ran across this area. In the exact center lay a small sable portion approximately an inch or two in size. Finally, at top, two triangular ivory-colored growths jutted upward.

"Tackle!" vociferated the youth. The yardlong entity tipped so that it was holding itself above the pointed covering of the soil in a four-pointed stance. It twisted its forefront to one side to release a noisy plume of mixed gaseous chemicals with a higher ratio of carbon-dioxide than the surrounding gases possessed, then began to lift and set down its extremities in such a fashion as to propel itself forward at increasing speeds.

"Bide!" solicited the teenybopper. Responding the creature before the female did nothing. It remained stationary upon the varying emerald shades of entropy fighting substance, oculars unoccupied. Presently the primary consumer came into contact with the mostly unmoving creature, causing a collision that made it so it was relocated several feet.

Presently the butterfly and stripling both vocalized further dictates regarding their behests, causing oscillation in a immoderate manner.

At length, regarding the temporal-spatial events occurring in negative time, the nymphet requested, "Um, are you winning, or am I?"

The masculine child communicated, "No idea."


	20. Proactive Retaliation

Hello again, beloved readers.

One of the amusing misconceptions of this, judging by the reviews, is that I'm saying everything is bad. I actually support this idea because if you're so unimaginative that you can't think of an alternative to the one cliché I'm mocking (especially as many chapters hand you alternatives in the author notes), it's probably for the best that this story makes you feel inferior and like you can't write a good OT fic, as you've just demonstrated you are, and can't.

One of the irritating misconceptions is that, having written this parody, I'm obligated to go do an OT fic done right, never mind that I've got several other ongoing stories that are not parodies and which take up my time. So to clear things up: This story does not mean no OT fic has ever been done well, and I'm not claiming to be the sole person capable of writing a decent OT fanfic – if I was, my chapters would just say, "You guys suck and can't write, so don't even try it." This would save me a great deal of time.

There are several OT fanfics in my favorites that are quite good – Negrek, Facia, Silawen and Keleri are all good authors who demonstrate that you can write something like this without plotholes a pod of wailord could swim though, leaving me no obligation to demonstrate it again. I'm disparaging...huh, I think I'm literally disparaging about 99 out of a 100, looking at the numbers, although the fact most stories don't get beyond the first chapter, usually the most cliché part, is probably driving that number up quite a bit. The actual number is probably closer to the standard "ninety percent of anything is crap" rule.

At any rate, I assure you it is, in fact, possible to point out insanely obvious problems without needing to write it yourself. The whole "how dare you criticize me if you aren't part of it yourself!" bit is, frankly, bizarre.

...not good enough? Fine.

For those of you who do not accept my judgement that your logic is unhinged, you'll be happy to now I am currently uploading an OT fanfiction. There. Immunity from complaints.

Now that we're established I'm an OT writer, on to the chapter:

_Since the authors already know the main character is the good one, sometimes they forget to put in even the flimsiest of justifications._

* * *

Proactive Retaliation

By a Farla who wishes this could go without saying. Because seriously, what is wrong with you people?

Jeka Bluesummers jumped out of bed and ran downstairs.

"Hello dear," her mother said, turning towards her daughter. "Oh, um, Jeka, wait a second!"

"Shut up, moron!" yelled Jeka. "I'm not going to let you stop me from becoming a pokemon trainer just because you're an evil person who hates them!" She kicked her mother and ran out the door.

"But you're still in your pajamas!" her mother called.

Unfortunately, Jeka's hands were over her ears. "Lalala I'm not listening!" she shouted back. God, her mother was such a jerk. Last week she'd grounded Jeka for failing all her classes, beating up the other kids at school and then trying to sacrifice her little brother to this cool elder god she read about in a book for kicks. What an oppressive tyrant!

When she got to the lab, she saw that the professor's nephew was waiting there. He was also going to get his first pokemon.

"Oh, hello," he said. "You must be Jeka. Wow, you're really pretty."

"What? The professor's letting a pokemon abusing snot like you get one of the innocent little starting pokemon?" Jeka demanded.

"Um – I – What are you talking about?"

"And a liar too," she added. The door opened and she entered haughtily.

"Professor!" she said before he could speak, pointing accusingly at his nephew. "I can't believe you were going to let this obnoxious little brat get a pokemon! He's a pokemon abuser! Plus he's mean to me!"

"What?" said Professor Hickory. He turned to his nephew. "What did you do?" he demanded. "What happened?"

"But I didn't do anything!" he protested. "I just said hello! I didn't do anything and there weren't even any pokemon around and I never met her before!"

"Then Jeka, what happened?"

"Well, when I got here, I saw this total loser there, and I just knew he'd be my rival, you know? And rivals are always pokemon-abusing jerks. And then he had the gall to _complement_ me. So he's GOT to be evil, it's just obvious."

"Um...okay," said Professor Hickory slowly.

"I demand you give all the starting pokemon to me so he can't have one! And never give out any more because I'm better than everyone else, so I'm the only one who should be allowed to keep pokemon."

"I'll, um, just a second, okay? You two just sit down and wait a moment." Professor Hickory backed away into the next room. He dialed a number on the phone. "Hello? Mrs. Bluesummers? Yes, your daughter got here safely, although she seems to be in her pajamas...okay, excited, I can understand that. Er, could you tell me anything about your daughter's personality?...Sweet and gentle, I see." Hickory leaned over to glance into the other room, watching as Jeka attempted to punch his nephew, who dodged. Jeka overbalanced and fell. "She's not, um, bipolar or something by any – no, I'm sorry, it's just that my nephew is trying to help her up after she fell and she's just bitten his hand, is this norm – no, he did not push her over!" Hickory sighed. "I'm sorry for bothering you, ma'am," he said, hanging up the phone. He dialed a new number. "Hello, Officer Jenny?"


	21. HOW TO GIVE YOUR STUPID TRAINER AN EEVEE

HOW TO GIVE YOUR STUPID BRAT TRAINER AN EEVEE

Farla's fun and informative guide to not breaking canon for your damn sue

hciR

Three children followed the professor into the lab. The first was a dark brown haired boy wearing black, somewhat worn clothing and a determined expression. Cheap metal chains looped through his cargo pants and his shirt had a slightly faded flame design. Behind him followed a dirty blonde girl wearing a white shirt trimmed with pink and equally white shorts who kept looking about at the lab curiously. The soles of her brand new shoes kept squeaking on the floor. And trailing behind them came a platinum blonde girl wearing a custom-tailored outfit made of pure mareep wool and several gold bracelets, as well as an opal necklace and sapphire earrings.

"Now," said the professor, "It's time to chose your first pokemon."

"Oh," said the platinum blonde, "Daddy already bought me mine. Isn't she just the cutest?" The girl pulled a gold-plated pokeball from her pocket and pressed the center button, releasing a pure white eevee that sparkled on appearance, and then continued to sparkle due to the large diamond-encrusted gold collar around her neck.

The two children stared for a second.

"I hate you so much," said the other girl.

"I'm going to beat you up as soon as you're out of the professor's sight," promised the boy, cracking his knuckles.

"Please don't hold back on my account," said the professor.

ytilauqE

"Welcome, children," said the professor as the seven ten year olds entered. "As you may know, after several years of people arguing over starters, we've decided to simply distribute eevee. This way, everyone gets the same pokemon rather than fighting over charmander. As they can evolve into any one of seven pokemon, they allow for greater element choice anyway, and because of the delay, you have more time to consider your team's composition and which pokemon would best suit you, rather than having to make that choice first."

One of the boys raised his hand. "But Professor, I don't want an espeon or umbreon, and it'll be a while before I can buy a stone!"

The professor gave him an appraising look. "I'm sure you'll have ample time before that becomes a problem."

"But-!"

"_Ample_," said the professor firmly.

ecifircaS

"Lookit!" squealed the pink-haired girl, shoving a premierball into her friend's face. "I got one I got one I got one!"

"Got a…?"

"Eevee!"

"What? Jen, those things are incredibly expensive, how did you-?"

"There was a sale on eevee – this breeding center had too many males people weren't buying – and I had just enough money to buy one!"

"You used up all your money? Which you need for pokeballs? And _food_?"

Jen sighed. "I know, but I've always really wanted one, and this is the cheapest I've ever seen the price go. I'd rather eat peanut butter for a month and not be able to catch any wild pokemon but have an eevee. I'll just have to be really careful with money for a while. It's worth it to me to have one."


	22. Starting Options

In the vein of several other chapters, this one endeavors not to attack a concept, but to adequately demonstrate it.

While reviewing OT fic, authors often reply to some of my comments by saying the story was game-based, not anime-based. This is a perfectly reasonable thing to say. Unfortunately, they say this after writing a story using the anime opening, and therefore I am filled with a desire to maim them.

However, due to my desire to avoid prison and the fact I have no idea where they live, I decided to channel my blinding rage into a calm piece in which I lay out the different ways you get pokemon in canon, both in the hopes that people will start using something other than the anime, and that they will stop claiming their anime-based opening is somehow game related.

Red and Blue

Taylor considered the tall grass in front of him. It was true he'd been told never to enter it, but he was so _bored,_ and how dangerous could it really be? He was eleven years old and could take care of himself! He stepped into the thick blades.

"Stop!" shouted a familiar voice, sounding horrified. "Don't take another step!" Taylor froze in panic as the professor raced up to him.

"Don't you know anything?" Prof. Oak demanded. "A wild pokemon could attack you at any moment out here."

"...sorry," Taylor mumbled, chastised.

"Didn't your mother tell you I was looking for you?" Oak asked.

"Well yeah, but I looked-" Taylor started to say, only to be cut off.

"Never mind that, you should have come as soon as you heard. Now follow me, there's something at my lab for you."

"Really?" Taylor grinned and followed right behind Oak to the laboratory.

Once there, Oak marched right past the assistant to the inner room. Taylor saw the professor's grandson, Jake, waiting there, and made a face. Jake and he had been friends when they were younger, but when they got older, Jake had gotten more and more competitive...

"Hey, Gramps! Loser!"

...and nasty.

However, even Jake's obnoxious presence couldn't detract from the three pokeballs Taylor saw on the table. His heart raced with excitement at the rare sight. He wondered why Prof. Oak had called him there, and if there were any pokemon inside them.

Anime, Season One/Kanto

Willow couldn't sleep. Her father rolled his eyes and said she could stay up as long as she was just watching the educational program on the three starters and pokemon training, being rebroadcast likely for this very reason. She listened intently as Oak stood in front of pictures of charmander, bulbasaur and squirtle, discussing the pros and cons of each pokemon, and final fell asleep with the images churning in her head, dreaming about bulbasaur and squirtle with hovering stat lists, whose abilities kept flickering in and out every time she tried to pick one.

She woke up to someone shaking her shoulders. "Wh..." she mumbled for a minute before getting her bearings. "MOM! AM I LATE?"

"No, sweetie. It's seven-thirty. Oak won't even be opening up until ten."

Willow's addled brains struggled to do the calculations. "Three...two and a half hours." She jumped out of bed. "I have to hurry and get ready. He might not give it if we're late!"

"Willow, you know as well as I do that we live ten minutes away. Calm down and eat your breakfast."

Willow gobbled down breakfast and raced back upstairs to get dressed. She spent the rest of the time running back and forth, grabbing some minor item she'd forgotten or badgering her parents to go. They finally left a bit after nine, and arrived by nine-thirty. A few minutes later, a second boy, Rowan, came along, parents in tow. Willow waved madly as he approached. The adults exchanged amused glances as the two children jumped up and down with excitement.

As ten o'clock approached, Willow paused a moment. Wasn't Ash supposed to be here? But then the doors of Oak's lab opened, and she forgot all about it as she raced up the steps.

Oak spared a disapproving glance out the door, then sighed, more in exasperation than disapproval. He led the children to a pedestal with three pokeballs on it, each marked with a different symbol to represent the type stored inside. "Well now," he said. "Which do you want?"

Anime – Like Every Other Trainer We Meet Throughout The Series Ever

"Ooh, a pinsir!" Ash said.

"Yep, caught 'em myself, like all the rest of my pokemon," said Samurai.

"You can do that? Dammit, I shouldn't have begged Oak for a pokemon after all."

-

"Ooh, an eevee!" Misty said.

"Yeah, my brothers gave me it," Mikey told her.

"You are SO lucky. Will they give me one?"

-

"Ooh, a farfetch'd!"

"Yeah, I found it really beat up and nursed it back to health."

"...that's strangely unfarfetched."

-

"Ooh, a girafarig!"

"Yeah, a lot of people here catch and raise psychic types because of the pokemon around here are ghosts," the girl replied.

"Ironically, that's strangely farfetched."

-

"Ooh[yet another pokemon which is not part of the bulbasaur-charmander-squirtle set."

"Yeah, I [bought/found/got/caught it."

"Huh. Cool."

Manga #1 – Pokemon Pikachu

(Condensed)

(Hey, screw you. Read it yourself)

"Ash, there's another pikachu chewing at the wires. Go take it away so I can talk with the nice electrician and get you a little sister."

"Okay Mom, just give me some rubber gloves and a string and I'll go release it in the forest. I see no problems with this plan."

"PI-KA!!!"

"Look, little guy, you can't chew our wires. It destroys them and it's probably not good for you. More importantly, it makes my N64 not work. Anyway – hey, it's GARY!"

"Hi loser. Look. _I_ have a pokeball and can balance it on one finger because I am just that awesome. While you? You are a loser."

"Wow, you have a pokemon!"

"Uh, yeah. Everyone who's not retarded goes out and gets their license the day they turn ten!...which is why I'm not at all surprised you don't have one. Loser."

"Grr...Pikachu! We're not going to take that! Come on, you're my starter now. I'm going to go do whatever it takes to become a trainer!...Huh. A half-day class and test, and then I get a free pass from school. Why didn't I do this earlier? Oh well. Pikachu! Let's go! AAH STOP ATTACKING ME!"

Manga #2 – Special, or Adventure

(Also condensed)

(I stand by my previous statement)

"Anyone can buy pokeballs and chuck them at random pokemon until you get lucky and one is caught. This usually happens by age eight, at the most. Then, you can use your caught pokemon to weaken any stronger pokemon, and collect more. Any questions, kids?"

"Yes Mr Red sir, um, thanks but are you going to give me that nidorino you just caught to demonstrate?"

"...no."

Later:

"Huh, that bulbasaur really likes you. I guess you can take it. And, as a goodwill gesture with no ulterior motive, I'll also throw in this pokedex."

"Wow, that's so nice of you."

"Yes. 'Nice'. Go record as many pokemon as you can in the pokedex, and call me if the bulbasaur evolves, since it's a new pokemon and not much is known about it."

"Huh? But I really just stay around here."

"...As a respected authority who has no ulterior motive, let me tell you that it is vital to becoming a better trainer that you go travel as much as you can. And also, that you see a lot of different pokemon."

"Okay. Thanks Mister."

"But only if you record them in the pokedex! Otherwise you won't get better no matter what you do. Seriously, fill up the pokedex! It's vital for my rese- I mean, you getting stronger. I am not using you for my own gain."

Yellow

Ash ran about in excitement. Today, Professor Oak has said he'd give him a pokemon! He couldn't believe how lucky he was. Oak was a serious researcher, and, his mom had told him more than once, didn't have time to pass out pokemon just because a local kid wanted to become a trainer. But Oak had finally agreed and said he'd give him one today!

His path took him near the edge of town, full of the tall grass where pokemon lived. Today, he was going to head out into it for the first time. He'd battle the pidgey and rattata with the help of his new pokemon, then catch and raise them too. He ventured closer, wanting to get an early look at his future pokemon, but he couldn't see any. There didn't seem to be any right by the edge...

He knew he wasn't supposed to go in, but he was about to be a pokemon trainer, and besides, it didn't look like there were any right there. He'd just take a step in and look from there.

He looked about carefully. He still didn't see any. He took another step just as he heard Oak shout. As Oak rushed up to him, a wild pikachu jumped out of the grass. Ash stood frozen, not knowing what to do, but Oak acted quickly, tossing a pokeball at it. The two watched as the ball rocked a moment, then stilled, signifying that the pikachu had been captured. Oak picked it up and pocketed it.

"You're not a pokemon trainer yet," Oak told him. "You're lucky I had a pokeball with me, or we'd have been in trouble."

"Sorry," Ash said.

"Well, I guess we'd better head to the lab. If you're that set on heading off, you should get your pokemon, right?"

"Right! Thanks!"

They headed to Oak's lab, only to see Gary waiting for them. Next to him was a table with a pokeball sitting on it.

"Gramps! I want a pokemon right now!" he shouted.

Oak sighed. "Gary, what are you doing here? I told you, I'll give you a pokemon later."

"But I want one now! I should get one first!"

"Stop acting like a child!" Oak snapped. "You'll get one later."

"...fine," Gary said, scowling.

Sending a final glare toward his grandson, Oak said, "Ash, your pokemon is on the table. It's an eevee."

Ash walked over to the table. He started to reach for the pokeball, only to be shoved aside by Gary, who grabbed it.

"Gary!"

"Gramps, I want this one!" he said firmly, holding up the pokeball.

Oak sighed more loudly, sounding disgusted. "In that case – here, Ash. It's the pokemon I caught outside."

"Can't you just tell Gary -"

"Ahem. Here, Ash. It's the pokemon I caught outside."

"Or maybe I could get the pokemon you intended to give Gary or something -"

"AHEM. Here, Ash. It's the pokemon I caught outside."

Gold, Silver and Crystal

He couldn't believe this! He'd been watching for hours, and not only had he seen no signs of police or even locks, but the only person who'd even noticed he was there was some dumb local kid. This was going to work perfectly. He watched the professor put pokeballs on a table. They probably contained pokemon, but he waited. He couldn't be sure, and he didn't want to blow his chance just to end up with an empty ball. He watched as the local idiot kid who'd bothered him headed inside. He could hear Prof. Elm through the glass, saying he'd give the kid a pokemon in order to go investigate some stupid thing in another town. So then those pokeballs...Yep, they held pokemon. The kid was opening the balls, and he couldn't help but grin. Not just any pokemon, but rare ones. He'd never even seen those pokemon before!

The kid selected what looked like a fire type. He watched as the other two were recalled and set back down, remembering which was which. He'd grab the blue one that was probably a water type, he decided. That way, if he ran into the kid on the way out, he'd be have the advantage.

He stayed still as the kid left again and walked out of sight. He waited a bit longer to be sure. Then he made his move, running in and shoving past the assistant to snag the left pokeball. Elm shouted and started to move to grab him, but he was already turned and starting for the door by then. Seconds later he was out.

Perfect, he thought.

Anime – Johto

Elm opened his front door, then readjusted his gaze downward to meet eyes with the child standing here. "Oh, hello," Elm said to the girl. "You're Danni?"

"Uh-huh. I'm here for my pokemon. My parents registered me last month, and I'm supposed to pick it up today because it's my birthday, so I'm ten now." She looked at him nervously. "You have one, right?"

Elm smiled. "Of course, I've been expecting you," he lied. It'd slipped his mind entirely. Sometimes he wished his lab operated more like Prof. Oak's, and had a set day each year when all ten year olds would show up. Then again, as his assistants occasionally reminded him, he was absentminded enough that would probably slip his mind too. And it was a lot easier to cover for forgetfulness when it was only one kid. They showed up on their own and didn't need any advance preparation. He just had to go to retrieve the pokemon and pokedex registered for her and send her on her way. "Right this way. A chikorita, right?"

She nodded, smiling back.

Ruby, Sapphire and Emerald

Brendan wasn't expecting much from the town. He'd grown up in a large, sprawling city, and now his parents had moved to some backward hicksville that wasn't much more than a bunch of houses. His mom had pointed out, as if it was a big deal, that there was a Pokemon Research Facility in the town, from which he'd gathered there was absolutely nothing else of interest if she was scraping the bottom of the barrel for conversation like that. There was another kid his age – _a kid_, meaning she was his only option for a friend in the whole place unless he decided to hang out with that five year old twit that had appointed himself Designated Whiny Narc Gatekeeper of the only way out of the boring place.

He was starting to wonder if Dad had been right about getting a pokemon. It'd never seemed a big deal back home, where there were plenty of things to do and no need to venture through wild areas to find them, but here, it looked like the only interesting thing would be getting one.

Then he heard screaming, and his mood perked up. Maybe this place wouldn't be so boring after all.

Diamond and Pearl

"No, no, it's my fault," Rowan said tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose. He felt a headache coming on. "We're the ones who forgot it, and in tall grass at that. You were just trying to help. Why don't you keep them? You deserve a reward, young pokemon like that don't take well to being separated from people they imprint on, and using them for battle means they're compromised for the experiment testing we were planning to do anyway."

* * *

And so, in conclusion, the idea of a professor sitting around handing out pokemon is an anime-only convention. The closest to it we get in the games is Yellow, which is not only altered to be closer to the TV show, but still has it portrayed as a particular favor Oak is doing for the player, not as a standard giveaway. (Additionally, Yellow does not have the standard starters, so anyone actually using that canon would be distributing eevee. Given you normally can't read OT fic without tripping over the things, I have no idea why authors never seem to actually use eevee as a real starter.) Even then, the anime has portrayed it both as a set day when all ten year olds show up (in Kanto) and with kids showing up on different days (in Johto), and however else it's been portrayed in the newer episodes I'm not watching because they suck.

In the games, pokemon are given to allow you to do a favor for the professor that you couldn't do otherwise. (They're not even rewards but more like basic outfitting) Oak is too damn lazy to go get his parcel, so he gives you a pokemon to allow you to travel and fetch it. Then he lets you keep it so you can travel around collecting pokemon for him. Elm also gives you one because he wants you to fetch something and knows you'll have to travel through grass to get there. Birch gives you one because he's cornered by a wild pokemon and needs someone to fight it. Notice a pattern?

And when the gameplayer goes off to travel, they see that those pokemon are exclusive or near so, as you don't typically encounter anyone else with them. Almost everyone else has a team made up of other pokemon, ones they presumably caught themselves or, in some cases, got from the gamecorner or Safari Zone. For that matter, younger trainers generally only have pokemon that can be caught in the immediate area. Clearly, getting a pokemon from a professor is the exception rather than the rule, and most people get them from other sources. Remember, other sources includes theft!

The manga has given still more options. One has a half-day test to get a license and by all appearances buying the starter of your choice or just grabbing a random wild pokemon, with the standard set simply being seen as easier to handle, not mandatory. Another has no starters at all – kids catch wild pokemon by throwing pokeballs until one works, and that's their first pokemon. Prof. Oak hoards pokemon, he doesn't give them out.

_**Any story that has a group of kids going to the professor for their first pokemon is using anime canon. Any author who responds to reviews of such a story by claiming they are using game canon should have a television dropped on their head from a great height in the hopes they will never again confuse a gameboy screen with it.**_


	23. Pairs

There are few better ways to make me appreciate the FFN Pokemon category then by hopping over to Serebii for a moment. Sure, the stuff here may be poorly thought out or inexperienced, but it's never _aggressively_ stupid. This sort of thing does crop up now and again, but not with the same frequency, and never in self-aggrandizing posts about how it was a brilliant idea that puts the author head and shoulders above most OT writers.

(I am, incidentally, kind of amused people voted for this on the poll, since Unoriginality is very much a churn-out-when-guilty-about-not-updating sort of thing, while the poll was meant to be incentive to work on the harder stuff rather than posting more easy chapters. But hey, if you want that... As a result, look! I am actually following your will this time. Or the will of seven of you, anyway. Congratulations, seven voters, you're the majority minority. I ignore all others for you! Democracy. So crazy.)

* * *

Inside the pokemon center, a roomful of trainers conversed, chatted, bickered, flirted, blushed, yelled, muttered, and sulked. Despite the chaos, they were clearly organized into boy-girl pairs. Most were all but bouncing off the walls, with the occasional boy or girl looking annoyed by the antics of their companion. A few were engaged in screaming matches, while some others sat looking jealous as the other half of the pair chatted up someone of the opposite gender, flirting shamelessly.

Into the room another pair entered, two calm fourteen year olds. They walked together, but not almost on top of each other or further apart as if they had been fighting. Neither the boy nor girl looked as if they were subtly trying to put distance between themself and their companion, nor had one latched onto the other. They looked around calmly.

The boy of one pair had finished flirting with the girl of another pair and noticed the newcomers. The three headed over. "Hey," said the boy, a thirteen year old with unruly brown hair. "This is Marina, and I'm Taylor." He rolled his eyes. "We're stuck with each other because Oak ordered me to help out his daughter on her journey. Didn't think she could handle it on her own, you know." He snickered.

"Well if you hadn't almost killed me by knocking me off that cliff, I wouldn't have needed your stupid charizard to catch me!" snapped Marina.

"Maybe if you weren't such a ditz you wouldn't have been so easy to trip. It's not like I wanted to be stuck with an ugly flat-chested girl like you either!"

"Hey, you're the one..." Their arguments faded into the background as they moved off.

The remaining girl spoke up. "I'm Evelyn, a psychic from Saffron. Sabrina prophesied that Harramond and I would need to travel together in order for a great evil to be defeated." She sighed. "Otherwise I'd ditch him in a heartbeat. I mean, just look at him -" She gestured toward the boy, who was attempting a headstand in front of two other girls. "And he trains dark types, ick. So how did you guys get roped into traveling together?"

The two newcomers exchanged looked. "We...didn't," said the boy after a moment, sounding slightly confused. "We met up at a city a month or two ago and decided to travel together for a bit."

"What!" exclaimed Harramond in shock, losing his balance in shock and falling over.

"You decided?" repeated one of the girls he'd been showing off in front of, sounding incredulous.

"You mean, like you _both_ agreed?" said a different boy, sounding wondering. A second later a pinkish-blonde girl shot out of the crowd and glomped him, knocking him to the floor. "Sam-chan, I missed you!" she squealed, tightening her grip.

Sam let out a long-suffering groan. "I can't believe it. Minnie here just saw me one day and decided to travel with me. I've done everything I can to ditch her, and absolutely nothing works."

Minnie giggled happily. "I love you too!"

"I don't love you!"

"You're in denial!" she squealed gleefully.

Sam groaned again. "So why on earth did you decide to travel together, then?" he asked, making no effort to get up.

"Why not?" asked the girl, exchanging another confused look with the boy.

"Why would you want to stay with someone who's your total opposite, who you fight with 24-7, and who's totally nuts?" demanded a different boy. "What's wrong with you? Why would you willingly do something like that?"

"I wouldn't be traveling with him if he was like that," said the girl after a few seconds. "We get along well, that's why we thought it'd be fun to travel around for a while together."

"What?" chorused the dozen pairs who had gathered around by this point.

"But doesn't it annoy you how he'd always saying you're stupid and ugly and violent, and chasing after other girls?" asked a girl.

At the same time the boy next to her asked, "She's not always hitting you for looking at other girls?"

"Wait, you mean, you don't fight, except like, when one of you is talkative and the other's really quiet, so you just get on each other's nerves? That kind of thing?"

The new pair was silent for a few seconds, looking at each other. "It's not just me, right?" asked the girl.

"No," the boy said. "This is totally nuts."


	24. Sometimes the answer's just no

So once again Unoriginality wins the poll. Mainly because I didn't update all those other stories when they were first, but that's beside the point.

* * *

Some people argue that this is better than ignoring it entirely. I suspect these people to be the same sort who have characters saying, "Wow, that's totally impossible/ridiculous/absurd" when faced with impossible, ridiculous and absurd events. To those people: you absolutely must do such things, the worst thing you can do is to bring it to the forefront of the story. Writing pokemon who always go along with their trainer isn't perfect, but it's still better than having the pokemon point out why they shouldn't be acting like that, and then having it continue on just the same.

And really - sometimes, the answer has to be no. Because if they never refuse, there's no point in making it an offer.

* * *

The joy ushered the trainer in to where the injured pokemon he'd brought to the pokecenter was recovering. The wounds had mostly healed, and it was just about ready to leave.

"I'm glad to see you're okay," he said. "Hey, how'd you like to come with me as my pokemon?"

It looked at him for a second, then shook its head rapidly.

Dee!

_Hey_, the abra thought to its trainer.

"Yeah, Bella?"

_Remember how, when you caught me, I said I didn't want to belong to a trainer, and you said just give it a try?_

"Uh-huh," he said agreeably.

_Well, I have, and I still don't want to be a trainer's pokemon. Bye._

Eed!

"So anyway, random slakoth I just caught, I'm your new trainer."

- Great, random person who jumped and beat me up. Can you let me go now? I don't want a trainer. The fight-against-your-pokemon-and-attempt-to-flee thing was meant as a clue. -

"Huh? Oh, it's okay, trainers aren't really evil. We're actually nice and –"

- Whatever. I don't like battling. -

"Well that's okay because-"

- Or contests. Or doing anything else that involves competition, effort or move use. Lazy pokemon, look it up. -

"But...I'll feed you!"

- I eat a leaf every three days. Again: Lazy pokemon. Look it up. -

!eeD

"Hi there, Mightyena. I caught you."

- Hi, Human. Can you let me go again like, say, right now? I'm kind of busy. -

"Huh? Oh, it's okay, trainers aren't really evil. We're actually nice and –"

- Glad to hear it. So you'll be letting me go now, right? -

"Uh, no."

- That doesn't seem especially nice. -

"Well, see, you should just try out being a trainer's pokemon and then you'd understand that it's great and stuff. And then if you don't like it after you try it out, I'll let you go."

- Okay…and if I want to skip that and just get to the 'letting me go' part now? -

"But you haven't tried! Why are you being so unreasonable?"

- You're asking me to abandon my entire pack – my siblings, my new pups, my aging father – who incidentally are relying on me to bring back food for them, thanks for delaying that – to travel with you to help you out, putting my own life on hold. Then after an unspecific amount of time and an equally unspecified amount of distance, you'll give me the option of being released, assuming you remember. More, I anticipate another conversation along these lines when I tell you that yes, I do want out. -

"But I'm really nice!"

- But not intelligent, apparently. -

Ede!

"Wow, Pikachu, it sure was great teaming up with you to save your herd and the whole forest from Team Rocket."

The pikachu nodded. - Sure was. Lucky you happen to mysteriously be able to speak pokemon. -

"I'm special," the boy agreed. "So anyway, want to come with me and go on a pokemon journey together, fighting many battles and probably wind up in the middle of a plot to take over the world which we'll then stop?"

- Look, you're a great kid and I really am glad you helped me out back there. But do you really expect me to abandon my home, family and friends, right as I've found out they're in danger of attack and were barely able to escape even with my help? -

"Well, yeah."

- No. -


	25. Exciting

THIS IS ACTUAL ADVICE I HEAR. KINDLY DIE IN A FIRE, SEREBII FORUMGOERS.

* * *

Serena stood atop the plateau of Mt. Firefall, struggling to keep her balance as the rock shuddered and bucked under her feet, chunks falling off the edges to crash downward as the Team Shadow admin standing before her cackled madly with glee, looking barely aware of his crumbling surroundings or even the impossible tear that had opened in the sky itself above as the huge machine behind him crackled with power. Two massive, deformed pokemon resembling houndoom advanced on her, fire bursting from their mouths with each breath and eyes glittering with malevolence. Her hand went to pull a pokeball off her belt. She was down to three still capable of fighting, and two were injured, but she had no other options. If she was stopped before she could bring a halt to Team Shadow's mad plan, the world was doomed. As the first houndeath leaped for her with a snarl she tossed Storm's pokeball forward, praying her starter would be able to win somehow despite the monstrous opponents they faced.

_But what you're undoubtedly asking yourself right now is, how did this happen? I don't mean what's happening in the scene itself, or how Serena came to be involved in Team Shadow's plot, or what they were trying to do, I mean, of course, how Serena became a trainer, what she ate for breakfast that morning and who she talked to waiting at the lab, the exact way she happened to pick her starter pokemon, that sort of thing._

_And so, scene established, we return to the beginning of the story._

Sunlight streamed through the window, hitting Serena's closed eyes and causing her to murmur sleepily. She blinked her eyes slowly, started to go back to sleep, then remembered what day it was.

Today she would get her first pokemon!

Serena jumped out of bed and raced downstairs.

"Slow down, Serena," her mother chided. "You've still got several hours before it's time to head over to the professor's lab.

"Right, right," Serena said. "What's for breakfast, then?"

"Bacon and eggs. Just wait a few more minutes for me to finish frying them." Her mother turned back to the stove.

Serena sat down on one of the wooden chairs by the table, tapping her hand idly on the table as she waited. She wondered what pokemon she'd choose. And what if it didn't like her, or didn't obey? Oh, she hoped she wouldn't run into those kinds of problems.

"Here you go," her mother said, setting a plate of scrambled eggs and three strips of bacon in front of her. She picked up her fork and began eating.

_Hm? Oh, we should reach the Team Shadow plot around chapter thirty, and catch up to the above scene around chapter forty...maybe fifty, we wouldn't want to rush through the part where she goes on a sidetrip to take part in a week-long American Idol-esque singing contest. Because the story would be so boring if we skipped over all the exciting parts like those._


	26. Hypotheticals

Apparently a few Serebiifen are tuning in right now, which makes it a good time to post chapters based on the ridiculous stuff I hear over there. I do this because enraging innocent people is what powers my demoniacally awesome satirical ability.

Also, Unoriginality's leading in the poll by about a mile and a half.

...they should be gone by now. A good half dozen Serebiifen in a row explained that they don't actually read any of my stories since my stories are obviously evil and the reason they hate me, so I figure they won't make it three paragraphs in. Okay, this chapter's actually only partly a parody and partly a matter of making something concrete out of the hypothetical arguments being used to defend particular writing concepts. I felt that since they didn't, technically, exist, someone should make them so that next time authors try to defend a concept being used in a story by saying that it _could_ be used in a decent manner, they won't be so evidently grasping at straws. I also felt they probably didn't realize exactly what they were calling for, and what better way to handle that than by illustrating it?

So without further ado:

Chapter 26: Hypotheticals

By a Farla who thinks defending a concept while ignoring how it's actually used is kind of dumb, but hey.

(S)-e-r-u-l-i-a-f

"Thanks again, Professor!" Faith called, heading down the path that led from Ginkgo's lab into to the unruly, high-grass plains that marked the edge of town. She was a slim, athletic fourteen year old, her recent growth spurt making her tall for her age, and she covered the distance in long, excited strides, one hand cupped around her starter pokemon's pokeball as she did so.

_Technically_, anyone could start at age ten, and the truly interested often managed to get a pokemon to keep years before then. But Faith hadn't, nor had she left the next year, or the next, or the next. Then one day she'd woken up and decided that she absolutely wanted to be a trainer.

Most of her friends, now back in school after traveling a year or two, were less than encouraging about her sudden decision, and her mom hadn't liked the idea of dropping out right before she was supposed to go on to high school. Which was why she'd ignored them all and headed for the professor, who, three hours later, would change his policy from no-questions-asked to requiring signatures by an attending parent after being chewed out by Faith's enraged mother for two of those hours.

(It should perhaps be mentioned here that her math final was today. Specifically, about five minutes ago.)

Faith wasn't thinking about any of this, for it was backstory and, like all good overage trainers, her backstory was meant to be quickly forgotten, lest people start asking questions. She tramped cheerfully into the tall grass, kicking up her feet and causing a great deal of noisy rustling.

As she intended, this noise attracted a small zigzagoon. Faith grinned and sent out her starter pokemon.

"Go, Chikorita!"

The small grass type that, really, needed no more description, quickly took up a fighting stance, awaiting her orders.

Faith began to order tackle attacks, which the zigzagoon matched. Her chikorita was slightly stronger, and so after a bit of struggle the zigzagoon was beaten.

"Alright!" Faith exulted, doing a happy victory dance. She did a little twirl and stopped to see two twelve year olds staring at her with the dismayed sort of expression usually used for the sight of a parent making a fool of themself in public.

She stopped immediately, then glared. "What? Let's battle."

One of the kids rolled her eyes and said, "Yeah, whatever."

"Chikorita! Get ready!"

"Go, Magmar," the girl intoned in a bored monotone.

Faith looked at her opponent. She got as far as "Oh fu-" before the battle had ended.

The depths of how much she was outmatched was a bit of a surprise to Faith. Luckily, the rest of the week would help acquaint her with the feeling.

And the next week.

Most of the new ten year olds took one look at the towering five-foot giant and refused to battle her. Anyone who'd been out longer than that inevitably beat her, unless they were near her age...at which point they also refused to battle her, not wanting to waste their time.

It was a whole month later that Faith managed to beat an eleven year old. "Alright!" she yelled, pumping her fist in the air to celebrate her first victory.

She did so in a town, causing a girl of thirteen to deadpan, "Congratulations, you beat a kid three years younger than you."

It was going to be a long journey.

Faith kept at it. She was older, which, all other things being equal, gave her an edge. It was just that all other things by and large weren't equal. She was also the protagonist, which meant she got better faster than a regular trainer. Sp by the time she'd been out a year she was about able to take on trainers who'd been out two years as if she was lucky, not that the spectacle of a fifteen year old against a twelve year old generally impressed anyone. Even finding someone to battle was a challenge in itself, as more experienced trainers repeatedly mistook her attempts to battle preteens as picking off easy targets, rather than trying to find someone on her own level.

Interesting things were happening as she journeyed, though of course she wasn't involved in any of it. Once she was in town during a Team Rocket takeover. She tried to help out and was promptly defeated and exiled to the hostage warehouse with the rest of the civilians. She later heard they'd been beaten by a gang of fifteen and sixteen year old trainers. Another time a town was taken over, but she didn't notice because she spent the whole time trying to beat the gym leader.

Still, she was improving. By sixteen she was able to battle fourteen year olds on an almost equal level and confident she'd continue to improve, eventually catching up with kids her age.

Faith promptly plateaued, having reached the point when experience at battles rendered slight age differences entirely moot, and when only serious trainers remained.

The author finally got sick of writing a story that was largely a chronicle of the character losing to young children, and stopped the story there.

E-c-n-e-t-e-p-m-o-c-(n-i)

"Hey!" called a boy.

"Hey yourself," Izzy said. He hadn't been interested in traveling in a group as he set off on his journey, and didn't like the friendly, entitled look of this stranger running up the path after him. The other boy was a lot bigger, a heavyset, chunky boy a foot or so taller than he was, which didn't endear him to slight-framed Izzy.

"You're setting out too?" the boy asked, in what he surely thought was an original opening line. "I'm Indiana. What's your name?"

"Izzy," Izzy said curtly.

"Cool! Our names start with the same letter!" the bigger boy with the stupid name said, as if this was an important revelation.

"Why are you following me?"

"I figured we should travel together. Mom's been really worried I'd run into trouble or make a mistake or something as a trainer. Hey, how old are you? You're tiny."

Izzy bristled. "I'm ten," he said.

"Wow, really?" he said, ignoring the path in favor of turning to better examine Izzy. "I'm twelve."

He walked into a tree.

"You said something about your mother being worried...?" Izzy repeated quizzically.

"Yeah," the boy said from the ground. "Said ten was way too young for people to start. She was sure I'd get my laces untied and trip. I told her I'd just get velcro ones, but she said anybody who can't tie their shoes can't be a trainer. Or read directions. So she wouldn't let me go earlier." He shook his large head as if to clear it, then added, "I can't believe your mom let you. My mom's been campaigning to get a law passed about this. Or something. 'It's not starting late, it's starting safe!' she says."

Izzy remembered hearing something about that. There were always random people arguing for weird stuff. There'd been a women on a news on a slow day, between the guy who thought sentret had a hive mind and the other guy who thought the whole system of trainers traveling was designed so aliens could replace them and infiltrate society. She'd said something about her son nearly burning down the house at age eleven when he tried to microwave a can of soup.

The host had pointed out trainers don't usually have access to microwaves, and she'd gotten huffy and said her son _certainly_ wasn't allowed anywhere near open flames and that she thought any parents who let their children near campfires should be sued for child abuse.

"Come to think of it," Indiana said as he stood up, "maybe I shouldn't travel with you." He took another step, directly into a shallow pit on the path, and promptly went down again. Izzy grudgingly offered him a hand up. "I mean, because you're unsafe and will probably get into all sorts of trouble."

He walked into a low-hanging tree branch.

Later he fell into the river. He couldn't swim.

Izzy was soaking wet as they entered the next town, and Indiana was still prattling on about how dangerous everything was. He'd needed Izzy's help to get the peel off his orange when they stopped for lunch, as well as for the childproof cap intended to keep his thermos sealed while it was in his bag.

"I think you're right," Izzy announced.

"Huh? About what?"

"Trainers. You should probably call your mom and try again next year. Twelve is too young."

Indiana nodded enthusiastically, shaking droplets off his thick hair into Izzy's face. "Right! She'll come and take us home. Oh, do you have your address sewn onto your shirt? I hope it didn't get washed off by the river. Mom says lots of people forget to use permanent marker because they're bad parents." He proudly showed off his own labellings, containing his name, address, and phone number.

"I, uh, right. I'll call my own mom to get taken home," Izzy told him. He pointed to a pokemon center. "There's a phone in – I mean there's a women in there behind the counter, you can ask her to call for you. I'll just be going to call my mom. You should wait inside the center for yours."

"Thanks, bub!" Indiana said cheerfully, heading over. He spent a minute pulling on the door before realizing it said push, then entered successfully.

Izzy quickly made a break for it.

S-u-o-r-e-g-n-a-d-&-r-e-k-r-a-d

Team Whoever had taken over, and it was like Soviet Russia or East Germany or Communist China or whichever it was in that book, _Big Brother_ or whatever it was called.

It was a despotic nightmare world where the government was evil.

"Boy, the government sure is evil," Darren said loudly to his friends as they headed through the school hallways, weaving around other students and teachers. "Upping the age to thirteen to try and discourage trainers from overthrowing them, because so many fewer kids go now."

"I thought it was the other government that was evil, the one we're at war with, which is why resources like pokemon are scarce and trainers are at risk of getting killed sometimes, if they wander into contested zones."

"I thought it was gangs that kept attacking trainers."

"It's not important. Now that we're thirteen and therefore capable of handling government enforcers, trained soldiers and gangs of armed murderers, let's go get our state-issued communist pokemon."

"Uh...maybe I'll just stay home."

"If you do that the government wins!"

"Which one?"

"Who cares? The evil one, whichever it is. Come on, Dillan, don't let the government win!"

"Look, I don't want to be a trainer if we're going up against stuff like that!"

"Oh, don't be such a baby. Like ten kids a year get picked off, mostly because they walk into a war zone or hidden gang territory miles away from civilization or try to blow up a government building, whichever it is. Just stick to the main areas and you'll be fine. I mean, our class is over a hundred alone, and every town's got a middle school. Statistically speaking more kids drown at the beach here."

"Yeah, being a trainer is about the safest thing you can do. More kids get injured in shop class, for god's sake."

"But then why was the age changed?"

"Duh! Because the government is evil. I just explained this," Darren said crossly.

S-u-o-r-e-g-n-a-d-&-r-e-k-r-a-d-y-l-l-a-e-r

Team Whoever had taken over, with the help of evil legendaries, miscellaneous gods, a corrupt government, evil corporations, supertech, and, oh, let's just throw in zombies for good measure.

The point is, it sucked.

In such a despotic nightmare world, the age of trainers was naturally raised to thirteen.

"OH HAI," chirped Dikari as she skipped down the empty streets. "KAWAII NE?" she called, pointing to her starter eevee that she had cradled in one arm. She twirled, sending her pink lacy skirt into the air and making her charming charm bracelet set with gemstones cling gently.

The zombies stirred and began to lurch out of the buildings, shambling across the broken street toward the girl.

"DESU!" she added for good measure as they closed in.

Meanwhile, on a rooftop not far off, a group of other thirteen year olds had gathered.

"So," said one boy. "You guys ready to become trainers, even though trainers are illegal and we'll have to hide it from an all powerful omniscient dictatorship?"

"Well, of course."

They took their pokemon and headed off with as much subtlety as they could manage. Almost immediately they attracted zombie attention and began to battle them.

Five minutes later black charizard morphs swooped out of the sky. Seven minutes later they were being herded into reeducation camps.

Meanwhile, in an underground bunker, a pair of twenty year olds prepared for another excursion out. They changed from their own worn but clear outfits into dull rags with carefully made subpockets to hide their pokeballs, and rubbed dirt over their faces.

"Did you ever hear that rumor about changing the age of trainers to thirteen?" asked the young woman, coating her blonde hair with a film of grey grease.

"The one where Parliament changed it back when things started to go to hell?"

"Yeah. Funny, the sort of stuff people think."

"I don't know what's crazier – the idea they'd get together for something so stupid while the world was coming apart, or that they'd just change it by a few years after the first hortrios appeared. Famine, slaughter, pestilence, and no true death. Like thirteen was old enough to handle the walking dead."

"Like twenty is old enough," the young woman added blackly, and they headed warily up onto the surface.

* * *

Here's the thing – a lot of the alterations you need for overage trainers just don't make for very good stories. If you don't make your character some boring auto-winning sue, you're going to be losing to eleven year olds, and no, people do not generally want to read about thirty chapters of losing to eleven year olds, so saying that you'll do that isn't really fixing the problem so much as switching one problem for another.

Meanwhile, the idea that, even if some trainers might be competent at age ten your particular one isn't until age fifteen is just...weird. Ultimately, your main character is supposed to be the one capable to carrying out the story – if he's the sort to need a map to find his own ass at age ten, the solution isn't to age him up until he resembles semi-competent, it's to replace him with someone who isn't congenitally retarded to start. This is compounded by the fact stupid characters aren't something to aim for in the first place. Most of the time, it's important for your character to be at least relatively clever, otherwise the story ends up dragging on and on for no reason. Idiot plots are not a good idea.

And if you overhaul the world into some distopia, either your thirteen year olds will end up just as dead as the ten year olds, or you haven't changed it enough for there to be any shift at all. There just aren't many things that'll reliably threaten ten year olds but thirteen year olds are immune to. There's also the fact that once things get dangerous, they get unpredictable and you'd more likely get a wider age range and skill level (and a lot of parents having their own opinions about the matter) than simply the same thing with slightly upped ages.

There is going to be a narrow range of situations where you might want to base a story around a character losing constantly or a character being incompetent, and making more focused changes than broad grim and gritty flavoring could net you a world where trainers get their first pokemon at age thirteen, simply not one where those thirteen year olds promptly set out on their own without any support system or otherwise act in any way resembling the standard journey. All of those, though, require the story be about that, rather than as windowdressing slapped on because you really, desperately want them to be a particular age.


	27. Another Opening

One of the common things I hear about this story is that I'm not ever showing you, my beloved readers, how to do it right. Now, some might say that there are many ways to do something right and it's better to just outline the wrong way and say to go and try new things. And some might might note that there have been seven chapters to contain an example of something I think would work in the actual OT fiction, four with a seriously written scene that could appear in a normal OT fic, and the three that contain a sample opening to an OT fic, without even counting the number of times the chapter notes contain suggestions on the matter. And some might raise some very real questions regarding if those people were actually reading this story.

But not me. Instead I will supply what is demanded (Again.) without any complaining or bitching, however justified the complaining and bitching might be (Oh so very much), because I am such a wonderful person. Anyway, as luck would have it, I have the opening of an OT fic I'm not going to write, so I might as well use it here. The (very abbreviated) framing situation: Girl goes out, is a trainer, collects badges up to a point, then takes a break for a bit, so she decides to investigate an obscure myth, otherwise known as Plot. Marvel as we see an OT fic _actually hit Plot within a page_. And people said it couldn't be done.

* * *

Cass blew gently on the tablet, sending up a fine cloud of dry, dusty clay. A few clumps of dirt were still stuck on the grooved surface, so she picked up the small, soft-bristled brush next to it and carefully rubbed over the last few holdouts.

The tablet was clay, not stone, and so not much different in consistency from the dirt she was trying to clean from it. One moment of impatience or clumsiness could render half of the markings illegible. Archeology in Hoenn was the province of a few enthusiastic amateurs, most of whom focused on the same flashy, large kinds of finds that interested laymen. The few who had the patience to excavate smaller things were the fossil hunters, who left the tedious clay tablets alone. It didn't help matters that deciphering the language of the ancient civilization was even harder than cleaning it enough to be read – if it had taken her hours to clean the tablet, it might take her days to have an idea of what it said, and it might be that some of the scratches and chips that marred the surface would make it impossible to translate at all.

The lettering of the lost civilization was completely unrelated to their modern alphabet. Rather than the distinct strokes that made up a letter, it was done by a series of dots, indented into the surface. Every combination had a separate meaning, so that damage that obscured just a corner rendered the whole of it indeterminate. Worsening things, sometimes the scribe hadn't made a distinct dot at the time, and the drying clay had closed over it, so that even an apparently intact slab might turn out to have translation errors. Compounding this, there were no breaks between words, so an error early on could confuse the whole of the translation. The natives of the time must have known the language well enough to correct for these things and work out the meaning by context, although sometimes Cass wondered peevishly if the inscrutability of their writing was part of the reason their civilization had collapsed. At any rate, for modern linguists, translation was a laborious process.

Still, Cass thought to herself, blowing again to clear the last of the dust, this didn't mean translation was impossible. Her father had been one of the few professional archaeologists of the generation, and he'd brought her along when she was younger. She'd spent days sitting in a tent copying down the marks and checking against a master list what letter or syllable they corresponded to, then going through the completed sequence with a small dictionary of known words to see if she could find anything. Then she'd go over it again, changing letters in the nonsense sequences to see if words would appear. She'd proven herself talented at the job, becoming as close to fluent as anyone could be at a long-dead tongue still poorly understood, and she developed a knack for pulling together the gist of a line even with missing letters or an untranslatable word.

She was a bit rusty now, but she still remembered the language well enough, and she was older and better at understanding complexities, which was why she was there now, her eyes skimming over an ancient clay tablet. She'd decided to take a break from her training, and she'd remembered one odd translation from a tablet they'd found on a poorly explored site years ago. It was unclear, with large portions still untranslated, about some of the pokemon known in myths, but it seemed to be talking about places, sacred ones, hidden in the guise of a story. And, she'd realized, rather than in the past indeterminate tense like all the other stories her nine-almost-ten year old self had translated and read, it was written in present perfect tense, in first person plural.

* * *

Cass' special, story-required traits here are justified by saying the subject matter is obscure, rather than that she is a super archaeologist. Remember, in the real world there are literally warehouses full of unearthed finds no one has time to research. The reason she finds Plot is she happens to be interested in something most people find boring, not that she's the only one awesome enough to make sense of a well-known mystery being studied by entire universities worth of professors and grad students.

By starting the story here, we skip the twenty irrelevant chapters where Cass collects pokemon and badges, just as we skip the twenty chapters of Cass translating ancient tablets letter by letter as a kid to learn the language. We also avoid having her stumble over this on her journey itself, especially that head-banging contrivance of her stumbling on the plot right as she's reached the perfect part of the journey for a sidequest. Instead, she's actively looking for it. Because she's an experienced trainer, there's justification for why her pokemon will be strong enough to travel to the remote locations and seek out these legendaries, rather than saying she's also a super trainer whose pokemon apparently gain levels at tripled speed.

In other words, we start the story right as it gets interesting, and we justify the presence of strong pokemon and unique knowledge by the situation, rather than saying that Cass is just more awesome than everyone else, which also limits that sort of specialness to the bare minimum required for the plot rather than with unnecessary flourishes. As a bonus, anything interesting that happened before this point can be revealed in concentrated bursts as the story progresses and it comes up, rather than stretched out across the twenty irrelevant training chapters.


	28. Regarding Ralts

(Hey, it's Christmas! Have a fic. More updates to come when I'm done reviewing everyone else in the category ever.)

For all this story is titled Unoriginality, it's not actually much focused on cliches so much as things that pop up repeatedly and also are nonsense.

That said, cliches are an issue in writing, and I happened to stumble upon one that's been cropping up for years without getting bitched about.

The reason cliches are bad is largely because their impact is reduced by overuse. Yes, there's no reason why it's fair you should be held accountable for the fact two hundred hacks used a cool plot twist before you, but this doesn't change the fact your readers are still going to see it coming a mile away. Worse, cliches start to invite laziness - I suspect a lot of the "wake up and go" first chapters you find in OT fic are by writers who could do better, but are so familiar with the standard scene they don't even think about doing anything different or adding anything new.

In the end, the scenes become shorthand for real development, the plot equivalent of telling rather than showing. Of course, this being Pokemon, even things that are mainly problems because they're such cliches don't, on examination, actually work without ignoring or breaking canon. The fandom is fun like that.

Where is this going, Farla? you may be asking, having a sinking feeling.

Where else? Ralts.

(Can I use asterisks again?)

***

(Ooh, asterisks, how I've missed you. What fun we will have together.)

***

The ralts tottered out of a concealing clump of high grass, moving slowly toward the lone trainer. He stared, flabbergasted, as the ungainly white pokemon approached, its overlarge head wobbling as it struggled to keep its balance.

It came to a halt a few feet away. After a minute, the trainer slowly took a pokeball from his belt and lobbed it gently at the waiting pokemon.

When the pokeball stilled moments later, he took out his pokedex to check the data on Ralts.

"Ralts, the feeling pokemon," the pokedex reported dutifully. "This pokemon rarely appears before people. However, if it senses exceptionally positive emotions and kindness, and possibly an epic destiny brewing, it will approach a trainer."

***

The ralts used its emotion sensing powers to feel a pure-hearted person at the edge of her range. Getting up, she began heading in that direction.

_This person seems exceptionally nice, _she thought as she walked up to the trainer hopefully. _Why, they have the nicest temperament of anyone I've ever encountered, and I can tell they're always very kind to their pokemon by sensing the fact they're in a good mood right now._

The ralts considered if she should check the emotions of the pokemon, but rejected the thought as silly. Instead, she began composing her introduction, where she would explain to the trainer how very awesome and kind they surely were.

***

The trainer's torchic had just finished off a taillow as the ralts approached. _Ooh, that looks like a cool pokemon_, she thought. Thinking quickly, the trainer ordered their torchic off the defeated bird. "Quick, Flamer, get it! Scratch attack!" The ralts shuddered under the blow and growled feebly. A second scratch attack caused it to sink to its knees, then nearly topple over, catching itself on thin, trembling arms. She chucked a pokeball at it and, after a bit of wobbling, the pokeball dinged and calmed.

"Alright! I've got a ralts!" She checked the pokedex data and grinned at the first two lines. "Also, this proves I'm even awesomer than I thought!" She then thumbed it off before the machine could get to _It hides if it senses hostility._

***

Another trainer was less impatient. He listened as the pokedex explained ralts hide and take cover if they sense any hostility before grinning, declaring his awesomeness, and shutting the pokedex again.

A few minutes later, he ran into a trainer. "Only two pokemon?" sneered the girl. "What kind of a trainer hasn't even caught a full team of pokemon by now?"

Burning with anger, he challenged her to a battle, sending out the ralts. "Ralts, beat up that arrogant trainer's stupid bellsprout!"

The ralts grinned joyously. ~ Sure! ~ it exulted, growling fiercely at the hostile bellsprout before it, then using a confusion attack to smack the other pokemon viciously into the ground until the battered pokemon fainted.

***

When Jeremy stepped into the pokecenter, he was surprised to see the place crowded with trainers, all of whom had ralts on their shoulders, in their arms or trailing alongside them. A number were engaging in ralts against ralts matches. "Woo, mine's strongest!" yelled one as its ralts sent another confusion attack into its opponent, knocking the other out. "Any other losers wanna try? We will break you, wimps!"

"Huh," Jeremy said. "Was there a swarm of ralts around recently?" He didn't remember them being a type that occasionally gathered into swarms, but then, he was sure he remembered them being rare normally.

The boys nearest to them looked insulted. "No. Don't you know anything? Ralts only come out when they sense exceptional trainers with unusually positive emotions, which is why I've got one. I guess _you're_ just a pokemon abuser." He looked like the sort of person who, as an adult, would go into bars with the express purpose of taking offense so he could get into a fistfight.

"Is there a ralts convention here or something?" Jeremy persisted.

"What are you talking about?"

"Well, it's just it looks like almost everyone here has a ralts. I thought they were rare."

"He just said, they only come out when they sense unusually high positive emotions, way more than the average trainer," growled the other boy. "Maybe they're rare for _you_ or something. God, what a moron. We caught them outside. Wanna make something of it?"

"Wait," said Jeremy. "You said something about the average trainer. But if everyone here has one, then..."

"We're all above average!" said a girl. She frowned. "Wait, that doesn't make any sense..."

***

In conclusion, way too many people use ralts as a way of saying their trainer is just that special. Much like the "hey look I oppose pokemon abuse!" scenes, it's there to hammer in that the trainer is just that much more nice than the average person on the street, and even more irritatingly, is almost never developed further, aside from the occasional tie in to their Ultimate Adventure of Ultimate Destiny. And, of course, god forbid anyone actually take into account what having a ralts might actually be like post-capture, instead treating them like some sort of girl-scout badge that trainers get for successfully completing the Being Holier-Than-Thou task that never matters again.

Some things to consider:

Ralts are supposed to be attracted to positive emotions, more specifically cheerfulness according to Diamond and Pearl entries. Positive emotions, contrary to how it's usually interpreted in fanfic, does not mean a pure heart. A ralts might, in theory, approach a trainer who's just finished kicking a zigzagoon to death, so long as the trainer is really happy about it, and in theory would avoid the trainer who saw the dead zigzagoon and began to soliloquize about how awful it is people abuse pokemon. Note that their evolution, kirlia, is powered by their trainer's cheerfulness, not their trainer's niceness. A jerk who's in a good mood is therefore a better pick for them than a wonderful person who gets sad when they think of all the jerks out there.

Ralts interpret emotions, not thoughts. They can't read a trainer's mind and tell how awesome and kind they are. They _may_ be able to distinguish between different kinds of similar emotions and so avoid the zigzagoon-kicking trainer in favor of the zigzagoon-helping trainer if both are about as happy, as they might avoid aggression-tinted positive emotions, but even that's not set canon. They definitely cannot read a trainer's mind, let alone sense a brewing Ultimate Epic Destiny. Yes, you could have a ralts saying that the Ultimate Epic Destiny person would have an emotional feel of exactly your trainer's mind, but that's stupid and contrived, so don't. Especially if the character's Ultimate Epic Destiny is about saving the world with pokemon battles, as...

Ralts _flee from hostility._ This is in two different pokedex entries, the set for Leafgreen/Firered, and the one for Emerald. If your trainer is doing or thinking anything violent, it doesn't matter how special their pure heart is, the ralts is going the other way as fast as its stubby little legs can carry it. This, not the positive emotions, is what you can use to justify a block for jerk trainers. However, it means that if your trainer is the sort who goes around beating up wild pokemon, or the sort who gets angry at zigzagoon-kicking trainers, the ralts will be avoiding them too. If your character is portrayed as aggressive, giving them a ralts does not make them secretly peaceful, it just makes you look like you're bad at the whole characterization thing. It should also be nigh-impossible to train a ralts initially (are you feeling hostile? is the opposing pokemon feeling hostile? is the other trainer feeling hostile? is _anyone in the vicinity at all_ feeling hostile?), compounded by their lack of attacking moves at low levels, and even having them out in a large group might cause trouble. It's possible a trainer can feel hostile if they're also very very cheerful about it and maybe train like that, but it's something to be addressed. Ralts are fundamentally peaceful pokemon, and no matter how much you try to avoid it, being a trainer is a fundamentally aggressive occupation.

Ralts, in sum, should appear if you want to explore the training of ralts, not as a badge of how totally nice and awesome your trainer is, and using them to say anything about how nice your character is breaking canon as well as horribly, horribly overdone. Nor should they just be popping up because you want a balanced team early on. If nothing else, these are rare pokemon that appear in one area in the games, stop having every Hoenn character trip over one.

And while ralts are an extreme example, this is really something to consider for every pokemon you use. The whole idea of pokemon fanfic is moving things beyond the idea they're all balls of stats you can slot into any spot on your team.


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